


Dandelion Hair

by brynnzie



Category: GOT7
Genre: Blonde Mark, Chronic Illness, Eventual Smut, First Relationship, I'm sorry if it's medically inaccurate, Literary References, M/M, Markjin, Park Jinyoung | Jr.-centric, Rating May Change, Soulmates, Teen Romance, Terminal Illnesses, because Jinyoung is an aspiring poet, hospital romance, side 2jae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-05-14 12:11:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnzie/pseuds/brynnzie
Summary: “For some people, ‘the point of no return’ begins at the very moment their souls become aware of each other’s’ existence."Jinyoung was not sure he believed in fate and soulmates, until he met Mark in his hospital ward.





	1. Mr. Tuan

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted on aff

Fate. It is a funny thing, the only other four-letter ‘F’ word that can spark a war of debate amongst humans. Jinyoung had seen it happen on the internet, people getting enraged and overly passionate about their opinion, believers and non-believers alike.

 

Some people like to romanticise fate. They believe that everything happens for a reason, more often than not, for the better. They also believe in soulmates and love at first sight and all things rainbow and unicorn. And then there are people who call this utter nonsense, whom Jinyoung thinks are mostly grumpy atheists who are control freaks and hate the idea of having someone laying down their lives in an unchangeable destiny.

 

“ _For some people, ‘the point of no return’ begins at the very moment their souls become aware of each other’s’ existence,_ ” Jinyoung articulated, reading off the poetry book by C. JoyBell C. that Jackson was holding for him.

 

“And your point is?” asked his best friend. His expressive eyes narrowed to signify his annoyance at Jinyoung’s literary word vomit.

 

There was a pensive silence as the car they were in sped past a red light. Jinyoung could hardly see the startled pedestrians waving their fists angrily in the air as they zoomed past. Everything was in a dramatic blur; even the blaring honks from vehicles behind them seemed to disintegrate into bubbles of warped, distant sounds in their supersonic ride. The only reason he could still hear his friends was because they were literally shouting into his ear.

 

“He is saying that he would not have gotten into shit like this if he hadn’t met you!” Youngjae screamed back at Jackson, not that he was furious or anything, because his voice had always been _dynamic._

 

Jinyoung barely blinked. Did he really spend so much time with these rowdy kids that he was numb to their shenanigans? Or was it the adrenaline?

 

“Shut up, boys, or I’ll throw you out of the car!” the woman behind the wheel finally snapped, her body trembling as she let out a shaky breath. Her fingers were wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel that her knuckles turned a ghostly white. “I shouldn’t have let you boys come with us. I s-shouldn’t have let you boys take my precious Jinyoung and he wouldn’t have gotten h-hurt–”

 

“ _Mum!_ ” Jinyoung sighed, watching the emotions in his mother gather. She was about to explode into tears – not a good idea in the urgency of their situation. _Women and their hormones, perhaps the reason why he preferred boys._ “Calm down, mum. I’m fine. Now don’t start bawling because I’m the one with the broken arm, not you. Just focus on taking us to the hospital. I swear, I will be fine.”

 

He glanced down at his arm, now not just bloody but also swollen and throbbing, but he wasn’t feeling the slightest ounce of pain, only numbness. Blood was gushing out steadily from his wound, seeping across the white t-shirt that Jackson had used to wrap around the deep cut. His friend was now looking ridiculous in the green flannel he used to tie around his waist. It was a size too small and he could easily be mistaken for _The Hulk_ if he wasn’t holding a dainty poetry book.

 

“We’re almost there, darling,” his mother charged ahead, her determination overshadowing the penny pincher in her. Jinyoung knew, he just knew, that she would faint from the fines of the traffic summons that would arrive in their mailbox by next week. Money is her life. But Jinyoung understands it as his mother’s love for him, because money _makes_ his life.

 

He had been a problematic kid since he was born, not because he was a rambunctious scamp but because of his weak health. While other kids spend their weekends at playgrounds, he had spent his in hospitals for check-ups. This was why he was so unbothered by the violent jets of red coming from his arm.

 

It was fascinating in the most grotesque way (his mother would kill him if he admitted that to her); his blood flowed like an endless stream. It didn’t stop, _it never does._ But the doctors would patch him up in some way or another. They always would. And he would have to spend a week in the hospital, then everything would be back to normal.

 

 _No biggie,_ so he might as well read some poetry on his way.

 

“You haven’t answered my question,” Jackson whispered, afraid of upsetting Jinyoung’s mother again. “You don’t really mean what Youngjae said right? I swear I didn’t mean to cause” – he cast a careful glimpse at Jinyoung’s arm – “ _this.”_

That morning, Jinyoung had decided to cycle to school with Jackson and Youngjae. Well, not exactly “cycle”, but hitching a ride, because he does not know how to cycle. As much as he wasn’t romantically interested in Jackson (that boy was as attractive to Jinyoung as their repugnant and foul-smelling old football coach), he was curious to know how it felt to ride on a bicycle on a beautiful spring day. Call him a foolish romantic, but he would never be able to give up his stash of rom-com movies and fluffy teen romance books.

 

If he was a grumpy, control-freak atheist, he would reason that it was his fault for agreeing to take that alternative route to school. It would also be his fault for stupidly asking to try the bicycle without learning how to put on the brakes. It would then, ultimately, be his fault that he went rolling down the hill and crashed into a giant rock.

 

“It’s just insinuating the existence of soulmates and the possibility that meeting your soulmate can change your life,” Jinyoung explained.

 

“And what the fuck does that mean?” Jackson deadpanned, then squirmed a little in his seat at the vicious glare Jinyoung’s mother was giving him through the rear-view mirror at his vulgar language.  

 

Youngjae rolled his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe the absurdity of Jackson’s level of understanding. “It’s fate, Jackson. A soulmate is someone you share an affinity with, and Jinyoung is saying that it’s fated. Am I right?”

 

“Yes,” Jinyoung replied, not particularly because he believed in fate, but because he refused to identify as a grumpy, control-freak atheist.

  

* * *

 

 

Had his mother not been tearing up while listening to the doctor, Jinyoung would not have agreed to be rolled out of the emergency room on the wheelchair like a parcel. He was sure he could walk perfectly fine with a broken arm, and having someone transport him everywhere made him feel more useless than he already was.

 

While his mother went to register for his stay at the hospital, Jackson and Youngjae tailed behind him and the nurse pushing his wheelchair. The hallway had as much personality as a blank sheet of paper. They went past rows and rows of identical sliding doors to wards, each room number indicated by the same boring, black lettering, just bold and all caps. Despite his frequent visits, Jinyoung would always get lost here. Everything was in such uniformity – even the ceiling was symmetrical with polystyrene squares laid on a grid-like frame, lined with those glaring fluorescent lights. The only pop of colour was from those commercial prints at the end of each corridor. _Our staff is here for you. Wishing you a speedy recovery._ How uplifting! What truth!

 

“I seriously hate being here,” he groaned, very much to himself but his inner frustration was enough to make his complaint louder than he intended.

 

“No offense to you, Jinyoung, but isn’t it just a fracture? Don’t they usually wrap you up and send you home?” said Jackson. Youngjae nodded in agreement.

 

“Well, I don’t really have a choice,” admitted Jinyoung. They were now in Ward 37, a two-person ward that his mother had insisted him to stay in for comfort. If they were richer, she would no doubt cradle him into a V.V.I.P suite with unnecessary service from a dozen nurses.

 

“What do you mean you don’t have a choice?” asked Youngjae.

 

“Yeah, is your mother being unreasonable?” Jackson guessed, before lowering his voice into a whisper as though she could hear him from five floors below, “ _again?”_

Before Jinyoung could reply, he was deposited onto the hospital bed by the very callous nurse. She gave him curt instructions with a poker face, her empty eyes harbouring no emotion except a readiness to quit her job any time. Jinyoung thought he understood her plight. The curtains were drawn as she left, and a tall, sharp-looking doctor entered in a pristine white coat. Considering how dimly-lit the ward was, he was literally shining, and Jinyoung found it mildly abrasive on his eyes.

 

“Mr Park’s mother is not being unreasonable at all. In fact, with type one diabetes, it is _mandatory_ for the patient to stay in the hospital for at least two days for observation,” the doctor said. Either he was an exceptionally young doctor, or he had the blessing of having a very young face for his age.

 

“What do you mean type one diabetes? Who? Our Jinyoungie?” Jackson exclaimed. This time, he wasn’t being overly dramatic; he was genuinely shocked. Jinyoung never told his friends about his condition. He never really thought it was a big deal, only having to excuse himself to get insulin shots now and then. He looked at his friends guiltily, now that his secret was out. Youngjae was now silent as a doll, refusing to look up.

 

“I’m sorry,” said the doctor, pushing up his glasses casually as he bent over to examine Jinyoung’s charts. “Not sorry because I let your friends know about your condition – they _should_ know for your own good – but because I haven’t introduced myself to you. Mr Park, I’m your resident doctor for your stay, Im Jaebum.”

 

 _How rude,_ Jinyoung thought. Was it because of his age? He had never seen a doctor as feisty as _Im Jaebum._ He also did not appreciate the fact that everyone was talking about his hospitalisation as a “stay”, as though he was on vacation.

 

“Hi Jaebum, I’m Jinyoung,” he said without any care for a respectful tone, a disgruntling attempt to provoke Jaebum, who seemed unfazed.

 

Jaebum eyed the two, still flabbergasted, standing by the bed, and then shuffled his way past them to Jinyoung to check on his arm. “Well, _Jinyoung_ , let your friends know not to expose you to possible physical danger because diabetes will make the healing process slow and make you vulnerable to other complications such as infections.”

 

“I know that, sir,” Jinyoung grumbled. He had heard this so many times since he was born, he could have mistaken it for his name.

 

“I meant that for your friends to hear. And good, I will check on you every six hours. If you have any discomfort or questions, just ring up the nurse. Have a good rest.” He turned to leave, completely ignoring the existence of Jackson and Youngjae. “By the way, it’s fine. You can call me Jaebum.”

 

Jaebum walked out without turning back and Jinyoung felt like he lost a mind game of some sort. Yet, that feeling was short-lived as his friends pounced onto him forcefully. He let out a choked moan as his arm got stuck in the messy bear hug.

 

“Oh my god I’m so sorry!” Youngjae frantically retreated as he realised they were hurting Jinyoung, but Jackson continued to stick to Jinyoung like a bee to pollen. He was mumbling about being sorry and it was when he blabbered about deserving to die that Jinyoung stopped him.

 

“Guys, it’s fine. I’m perfectly fine. I’ve had type one diabetes before I could walk. The last thing I want you guys to do is to treat me like I’m one of the _dying_ patients here,” said Jinyoung.

 

Jackson raised his head from Jinyoung’s chest _(finally!)_ and pouted like a wronged child. “So, I’m not going to die for agreeing to let you cycle?”

 

“You will, if you don’t leave soon,” Jinyoung suggested upon spotting his mother from outside the ward. She was scampering around, her little feet in heels making clicking noises down the quiet corridor, as if she was so worried that she couldn’t read the plastic signs that indicate: Ward 37.

 

His friends took his hint and mouthed goodbye before sneaking out the door, and it was within seconds that his mother found her way to his bed. As she began to speak, Jinyoung’s mind wandered somewhere else. Her voice was like Charlie Brown’s teacher on that Snoopy cartoon. “Be careful… _waa waa waa…_ dangerous… _waa waa…_ take care… _waa waa waa…”_

He was staring at the curtain on the other side of the room, wondering what kind of person laid on the other bed. There was a huge box beside the bed, a tell-tale sign that he or she was not an overnight guest.

 

“Darling, are you listening?” his mother asked.

 

“I have to take care of myself?”

 

“Ah, so you can hear me,” she said, slumping her shoulders. It had been a long day for her too, to endure the rollercoaster of emotions Jinyoung always put her through. Jinyoung loved his mother, but he was no longer the little boy who hung onto every word she said. Besides, her words are always the same. Caring, full of love and concern, but magnified the issues that came with his chronic condition. He was thankful but at the same time, done with it through and through. It made him feel sicker than he already was.

 

“Listen to the doctor… _waa waa waa…_ rest well… _waa waa waa…_ I’ll be back tomorrow… _waa waa…”_

Unexpectedly, his mother’s nagging was the only thing that made him feel at home, the place he longed to be at that very moment. As night fell and the painkillers kicked in, he dozed off. Tomorrow, he would wake up, Jaebum would deem him fit to be discharged and he would say goodbye to this white hell.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Ah,_ Jinyoung’s life was overflowing with _destiny._

Ill-fated ones, of course. The nurse from yesterday greeted him good morning by sticking the thermometer in his ear like one would in the toilet bowl with a toilet brush. The aggressively loud beeping by his ear snapped him out of his dream about dinosaurs lurking behind the other bed’s curtain, but it was the frantic call for the doctor that woke him up completely. He didn’t expect such vigour in the same nurse.

 

“Thank you, Nayeon,” Jaebum said. Jinyoung stared as she bowed then dragged herself away with heavy footsteps. Nayeon – the zombie nurse.

 

“Interested?” asked Jaebum, his eyes shifting ever so slightly in suggestion. It was only after he nodded his head in Nayeon’s direction that Jinyoung realised what he was talking about. He shook his head vigorously.

 

“She is not my type. Hundred percent, no way,” said Jinyoung.

 

“Well, don’t have to get so defensive. I’m not judging or anything.”

 

“Well,” Jinyoung countered. “Aren’t doctors supposed to be mindful of their patients’ privacy? Why don’t you do your job and not ask so many questions, Jaebum?”

 

“I am doing my job. And my job tells me that you might have an infection because of your fever. Are you feeling nauseous? Or dizzy? Or do you feel extreme pain anywhere?” He asked the questions like he was reciting sentences. How could someone be so emotionless? The better Jinyoung got to know him, he more he began to think it was a mercy Jaebum had any features at all. So very blank and high was the dead wall of his face. 

 

“No? Good. Take these,” he shoved a couple of pills into Jinyoung’s hand. “We will monitor your temperature for the next hour and if your fever persists, Nayeon will come to schedule you for further check-ups. Now, if you excuse me.”

 

Jaebum walked over to the other bed in the ward. The curtain was drawn for the first time since Jinyoung had been there, though only partially. He could see Jaebum running through his usual questionnaire for the patient, checking on his charts, doing the most boring tasks of being a doctor.

 

He almost choked on his pills when he caught a glimpse of the patient’s hair. It was white – not salt and pepper like that of his grandfather’s, but as white as the hospital walls – and seemed to have signs of thinning. Jinyoung could tell because he was rather proud of his own “ _luscious_ , black hair” (quote his hairdresser). He deduced immediately that he was an old man, and he hated it.

 

Old people _reeked._ They reeked of wisdom and a sense of calm, an acquiescence to fate, such that Jinyoung felt bad about being whiny and afraid of... death. As if age was a drug, these elderly patients were numb to the possibility of their passing. They had journeyed their lives and were just waiting for their long-awaited rest.

 

Old people dawned upon him the immaturity of his age, and he embarrassingly confesses to his obsession of trying to be an independent and educated young adult. _Wise beyond his years, eighteen-year-old Park Jinyoung_ – the introductory commentary he would have when he gets featured on _Time_ magazine. It sounded farcical in the presence of an aged person.

 

This was why he was absolutely devastated when the results came in and confirmed he was down with an infection and had no chance to escape the confines of his ward for at least a whole week. His mother had to work, and his friends had school. He was trapped in a hell of antiseptic fumes, with an old man. That sounded about as fun as his math lecture.

 

Just then, Jinyoung’s phone pinged with the notification of a message. It was Jackson, texting in class as usual. Before he could type a response, more messages came in, at such a rapid rate it was embarrassingly like a dated commercial jingle on a broken record. He should have set his phone on silent.

 

Jinyoung bit his lip nervously, looking over to the old man’s bed in case of any signs of irritation. _Nothing._ Just in case, he hopped over to the shared bathroom and locked the door behind him before pulling out his now constantly vibrating device.

 

_Hey._

_Hey._

_Reply pls._

_Mr Kim is soooo interesting I’m half asleep._

_Hello?_

_Are u ok?_

_When r u coming back to sch?_

_Tomorrow?_

_Perhaps later?_

_Don’t want u to miss my basketball match_

This was followed by a long string of _heys_ and _hellos_ that were nothing but a nuisance to scroll through. Jinyoung wondered how they were still friends with this disproportionate need of attention between them. Also, why was he hiding in the bathroom like he was committing a sin? Not that he was scandalous in any way, but he might appear to be more scandalous than he intended to be to his fellow ward mate.

 

 _Hey, have an infection apparently._ His shoulders dropped in defeat as he typed. _Probably stuck here for the next week fml._

JACKSON: _you ok bro? shit sounds serious_

JINYOUNG: _fine but come visit soon, stuck with an old man here… life is boring_

JACKSON: _srsly good luck to you. wish I could come over but sch hours = visiting hours hello?_

JINYOUNG: _oh pity_

JACKSON: _ask jaebum to move u to a different ward_

JINYOUNG: _you crazy? you think this is four seasons hotel or what_

JACKSON: _just tryin to be helpful.. btw lorenzo choi thinks he is cute_

JINYOUNG: _who is?_

JACKSON: _jaebum, who else? u?_

A notification for another chat flashed on the screen, and Jinyoung couldn’t help but bend over in laughter.

 

YOUNGJAE: _did Jackson tell you something absolutely ridiculous and totally untrue??????_

JINYOUNG: _maybe…_

YOUNGJAE: _fuck_

YOUNGJAE: _I knew something was up when he wasn’t using the group chat fucking wang_

JACKSON: _hey, tell lorenzo choi to stop hitting me_

Jinyoung almost jumped out of his skin when he heard urgent knocking on the washroom door, as though he was caught red-handed doing something illegal. There was no reason for him to be jumpy; or maybe there was, his subconscience avoiding potential conflict with the old man. He was so not getting sworn at by a cantankerous elder like the one on the bus a month ago (Jinyoung had fallen asleep and unintentionally not given up his seat).

 

“Mr. Park? Are you okay in there? Mr. Tuan would like to use the washroom.” It was Nayeon.

 

 _Tuan?_ That was an unusual surname. Jinyoung wasn’t sure he’d ever heard of it. He hurried himself anyway, flushing the toilet to forge the impression that he was doing actual toilet business and not unauthorised hogging-the-toilet-from-elderly business. He could sense an increased urgency in Nayeon’s knocking – _of course,_ the elderly had weak bladders – so he left the washroom in a haste.

 

Expecting to meet his ward mate for the first time, Jinyoung was surprised to see Nayeon instead, and half-relieved that the old man was still shuffling behind the curtains because first impressions were probably unfavourable at washroom entrances.  

 

“Sorry to rush you, but Mr. Tuan has to take a shower before his therapy,” said Nayeon.

 

_Therapy? Physiotherapy?_

 

“No worries, I was done anyway,” lied Jinyoung. In fact, now that he was out, he was starting to feel the beginnings of an urge to go. _Oops._

 

“Good, I was about to take you to Wing B for your blood test and insulin shot anyway. If you could please follow me,” she said with an impersonal smile, which Jinyoung thought actually would look pretty if it was sincere. He briefly wondered how Nayeon was like outside of work. Perhaps she needed a vacation; _all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy_. But obviously, work was her priority, and all sparks of affection Jinyoung had for her dissipated into thin air as she dragged him (almost) abusively by his sleeve to Wing B.

 

Routine to others was waking up on the third alarm, catching the bus right before it leaves, getting their morning coffee from their local Starbucks. Routine to Jinyoung was syringes, syringes, syringes. _Life is a state of give and take._ Give blood, take insulin. Jab, jab. Until he could no longer feel pain and his scars became so distinct they painted an unsightly constellation.

 

“How is your day?” the nurse who took his blood asked. She was _actually_ concerned, but her kindness applied, unfortunately, at the wrong time and on the wrong person.

 

“Couldn’t be better,” griped Jinyoung.

 

Nayeon abandoned him for his journey back to the ward, and it was only without company that he felt a bit empty. Not in the emotional way, but he felt something was missing, as though he lost his phone somewhere.

 

He stopped in his tracks as he came to a realisation. _Aha._ His phone, which was usually either in his pocket on in his hand, was absent. It was no wonder he thought he was walking topsy-turvy; his right side was lighter than usual.

 

A scavenger hunt ensued when he was back to the ward, and it didn’t take him long to realise that looking under the mattress was silly and not worth his effort with just one functional arm. It had to be in the washroom. However, Mr. Tuan was surely taking his own sweet time behind the door. It had been half an hour, and he could still hear the pitter-patter of the shower.

 

 _Deep breath, Jinyoung._ Was it morally wrong to have to consciously conjure his inner zen to keep his patience with the elderly? Because it was taking him an immense amount of self-control to not knock on the door. Especially when he heard the vague sound of his phone vibrating noisily against the countertop. What if Jackson was sending him inappropriate texts again? There was no doubt a man from the older generation would shake his head at explicit and more importantly, untasteful sexual jokes.

 

Jinyoung was half expecting to get cursed at when the door final- _fucking_ -ly swung open. He wasn’t expecting a theatrical show opening of an R rated Broadway musical.

 

Behind the unassuming bathroom door came a billow of hot steam reminiscent of the dry ice used in stage effects, and when it cleared up, the main character materialised before his eyes. And well, _god damn_. Nobody told Jinyoung that someone could look so _majestic_ under a flickering toilet light.

 

The man – if he even was one and not a special being that transcended classification –  exuded a dreamy asexuality that made him attractive to both men and women, with his long lashes and chiselled jaw line, framing his delicate features that were still a boy’s. His hair, a dazzling platinum blonde, was dripping with water fresh from his shower.

 

Jinyoung’s vision travelled with the dripping water, his mouth agape as he watched the clear droplet roll down a beautiful, smooth chest and sparkle like a diamond against that porcelain skin. He needed a reason to justify his indecency.

 

Gravity was the reason water was dripping down.

 

Gravity was the reason Jinyoung was looking down, and further down… down…

 

“Where are you looking?” the man spoke. He had a voice deeper than the hole of embarrassment Jinyoung was free-falling into.

 

“I w-wasn’t looking!” Jinyoung spluttered. He was such a talented liar.

 

“Clearly,” the man laughed. His laugh was hearty and rumbly and – was this guy a perfect specimen or what?

 

“Uh, well, we’re not exactly in a situation for self-introductions but hello I guess? I’m Mark,” the man said, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly before extending his hand.

 

_A glistening, toned arm._

“W-who are you? And what are you doing here?” Jinyoung squeaked.

 

That sweet laughter rang within the confines of the ward once again. “I said I’m Mark, and what do you mean what am I doing here? I stay here.”

 

Jinyoung eyed him suspiciously, then did a double-take at the countertop to make sure his phone was still there and this _Mark_ – whoever he was – was not a pretty-looking thief. Mark put two and two together and passed Jinyoung his phone, not missing that adorable tremble in his hand when their skins touched.

 

“There you go,” he said.

 

“You do not stay here,” stated Jinyoung, although it came out uncertain like a question.

 

“Pretty sure I do?”

 

“You are not Mr. Tuan. Mr. Tuan is a _lovely old man._ You are a… _not-lovely young man,”_ Jinyoung jabbered, nonsense falling out of his mouth.

 

Mark laughed again, as if it was the only thing he knew how to do. Not that Jinyoung was complaining, because if that was so, Mark certainly had mastered the art of laughter. His stunning smile could enchant even the most stoic of humans, like Jaebum and Nayeon.

 

Speak of the devil. The two poker faces appeared behind him from nowhere. And Jaebum dropped one sentence that came hurling down on Jinyoung like an atomic bomb.

 

“Mr. Tuan, we’re ready for your session.”

 

He was talking to Mark.

 

Mr. Tuan was the person he would be staying with in the ward. In a best-case scenario, he would be the person he shared meals with, had deep conversations with, spent the night with. But Mr. Tuan was not some random, old man.

 

Mr. Tuan was Mark. Mark Tuan: gorgeous _homme fatale_. And Jinyoung just fucked up his chances with him. 

 

 


	2. Galaxies Collide

“Sigmund Freud considered a quota of escapist fantasy a necessary element in the life of humans,” said Jinyoung, but Jaebum was not buying his excuse to leave the hospital.

 

“I’m sorry, but with the state of your arm, we _advise_ against you leaving the compounds of our medical facilities. Your wound infection could easily worsen if in contact with non-sterile environments,” said Jaebum in a monotonous voice.

 

“If it’s just an advice, I can choose not to heed it, right?” Jinyoung tried. The icy stare he got in return meant no. “But I really need my books. Just let me go to the library for an hour? Please?”

 

His desperate begging fell on deaf ears. There was no way Jaebum would say yes to his request, not with that heart of stone.

 

It was with much tactic and luck that Jinyoung managed to evade Mark’s omnipresence. By bribing Nayeon with delivery coupons, he had deciphered the unintelligible timetable for Mark’s schedule, in turn making sure to always be at the opposite end of wherever the latter was in the building. Where there were unavoidable situations that required both of them to be in the ward, Jinyoung would pretend to be asleep.

 

Things were going well and the goal of avoiding Mark until the day of his discharge was just a little more promising, but then, when he least expected it, the world turned its back on him. The time he’d had alone had been gravitationally circumscribed by when his fates would pull him back. And they had pulled now — double-fisted. Mark sitting by his bed. Mark talking to his mother.

 

_What the hell is going on?_

 

The cordial atmosphere between them was unsettling. He knew from the way his mother slapped her thigh as she howled in laughter that she was positively charmed by Mark, and the next thing that would happen would be her telling him one of those embarrassing anecdotes she saw simply as a loving testament to her son.

 

She might have found Jinyoung wetting his pants at the ripe age of eight lovely and cute, but Mark might barf.

 

Jinyoung was frozen by the entrance to the ward, staring intently at the blonde beauty. He swore it was _only_ to observe his reactions in case his mother exposed his tainted past, and that his palpitating heart was merely a result of climbing three flights of stairs.

 

And lo and behold, _sweet llamas of the Bahamas!_ Mark turned and looked straight at him. He stood up, and just before he began walking towards Jinyoung – for he seemed suspended and immobile as if he was trapped in a viscous gelatin from which only Mark’s movement might free him – his mother saw him.

 

“Oh, Jinyoung! Where have you been, not answering my calls?” she exclaimed, voice laced with worry. A few seconds ago, she seemed to be enjoying her banter with Mark and showed no signs of uneasiness. Mark was _that_ charming.

 

“I-I was j-just…”

 

“Nevermind!” his mother smiled, beckoning for him to come over. “Come and sit with us, darling. Mark here has been such a sweetheart telling me all about you.”

 

“Me?” Jinyoung spun around to double-check if there was someone else standing behind him, not believing his ears. Why would Mark talk about him? And what is there to talk about other than his disgraceful idiocy? He tried not to notice Mark’s playful smirk, but it kept obtruding at the corners of his vision.

 

His mother blushed, her cheeks tinged with a shade of pink Jinyoung never thought he would ever see on her. It was like she was brought back to her teenage years, sashaying on the clouds like an innocent, girly girl. She slapped her thigh again as she laughed – a habit that showed only when she was truly delighted. “Oh! He was just telling me that you’re a very nice and handsome boy, and” - she paused to clasp her cheek in feign coyness - “he could tell that that all came from _me! Oh!_ What a gentleman he is, isn’t he?”

 

Jinyoung watched in astonishment. What Mark had done to his mother was beyond the pale – criminal – and he knew it. Because _just look at that smug face!_

 

His mother was still giggling like a schoolgirl, until she glanced at her watch and decided it was time to leave for work. Talk about throwing her own son under the bus. Jinyoung never felt so wronged, suddenly pitying himself for being injured and then neglected and _abandoned_ by his own family. He sent a look of contempt to his mother, attempting to get across as much sarcasm as he could possibly show. It was to no avail; his mother was blind with happiness.

 

That was how he ended up watching his only lifeline saunter away, hips swaying as though they were bidding farewell. _Fare thee well, good luck._

 

When it was just him and Mark left in the ward, Jinyoung felt more naked than a skinned chicken, and found himself wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. The tension in the air was so thick, a knife wouldn’t have been able to cut through it.

 

“This is awkward,” he thought aloud. Upon recognising that the words thrown out were from himself, he stiffened up. If he could just combust into nothing right now…

 

“You think?” said Mark. He was smiling again. _Stop smiling!_ That winning smile. _I said, stop!_

 

“I d-did not mean it,” croaked Jinyoung. He sounded like a demonic baby. _Fuck._

 

“Hey,” Mark’s voice softened as he dropped his smile. “It’s totally fine. I mean, I know how you feel. I used to be the most awkward potato ever. Couldn’t ever look into people’s eyes.” He shrugged, like it was an insignificant part of his past, but his eyes said otherwise.

 

“I don’t think I can believe that,” said Jinyoung.

 

“I don’t blame you.”

 

“Well.” Jinyoung was becoming painfully aware of the sounds of himself breathing. The silence was frustrating, but he could not bring himself to speak as he observed Mark gazing out of the window. He was thinking – what about, Jinyoung had no idea, but he would certainly like to know – while he took in the scenery behind the grimy glass.

 

“Isn’t it beautiful out there?” said Mark.

 

There was an old, lone tree, its skeletal boughs twisted in grotesque angles. The grass was dry and ruthlessly trampled on by passers-by. And the sky a dull grey, warning of an impending storm. It was the most awful scenery.

 

“Yeah, pretty,” said Jinyoung.

 

Mark raised an eyebrow at him, then dropped his gaze to reveal a subtle, knowing smile. “You don’t have to try to be nice. I know it’s not the most stunning out there.”

 

“Well, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It comes in many forms. That tree is rooted here, where people pass away daily. Even the grass surrounding it is ill-treated because everyone who visits is too distracted by the pain and suffering either themselves or their loved ones have to go through. Look, even heaven is about the cry on that tree. Don’t you think it’s so lonely?”

 

Jinyoung bit his lips once he realised the nerd in him was rambling off again. But somehow, his words appeared to pull a string in Mark’s heart. He could tell from the visible quiver in his eyes. _Perhaps he feels the same?_

 

He continued, “but it is in its loneliness that there is beauty. The fact that it is still standing strong despite all that is against it. You know, like its own Tupac anthem: _‘It’s just me against the world’_?”

 

Mark’s chuckle broke his retrospective poise. “Really? Tupac? You’re a big fan?”

 

Jinyoung blushed. “Not really,” he said. “I just happen to read a lot.”

 

“I can see that. You seem to speak in rhymes and riddles. Very poetic _._ I’ve never met someone like you before.”

 

“Oh! I’m sorry if it was too much,” Jinyoung frantically apologises. He was bending over in a strange posture, scratching at his knees again – his reflex for anxiety – but having his bandaged arm in the way. “I j-just happen to say random stuff when I’m not thinking straight.”

 

Mark shook his head, dismissing his apology. “No, no. Not at all. I like it! I mean, I’ve never been the most artistic in any way so I find it really interesting. Admirable, even,” he confessed. 

 

 _He liked it?_ Jinyoung gulped. Knowing it was just a casual compliment didn’t really change the fact that his stomach tickled a bit in anticipation. Of what, he’d rather not think about.

 

“So,” Mark began, clearing his throat just before the silence returned. “I think, maybe, we should introduce ourselves to each other properly this time?” His eye smile gave away his memory of Jinyoung’s blunder outside the washroom, and Jinyoung was immediately embarrassed again.

 

“I’m Mark Tuan. Born in America. I’m twenty this year, am – _was –_ a college freshman. Nice to meet you.” He reached out for a handshake and memories of his strong, glistening arm fresh out of the shower amplified in Jinyoung’s mind. Jinyoung was deeply ashamed; he vowed to go to church once he was discharged to ask for forgiveness for his sins.

 

“Uh,” he started very eloquently. “Uh I… I’m Park Jinyoung. I’m eighteen years old, so I go to high school. And well, I’m really sorry for mistaking you for an old man. That’s just… _stupid._ ”

 

Mark burst into lively laughter like it was the best joke he’d ever heard. He was holding his sides as his body convulsed in amusement, rocking back and forth, and Jinyoung found that image so (unnecessarily) lovely. When he finally calmed down from his fit, he said, “oh don’t worry about it, _Jinyoung._ That was an honest mistake. A very cute one indeed. Forget about it, please.”

 

Jinyoung liked how Mark let this misunderstanding, that could be offensive to the average person, slide. He liked how his name rolled out from Mark’s tongue so naturally. _Jinyoung. Jinyoung. Jinyoung._

 

He also liked that Mark called his mistake _cute._  

 

“Um, thank you?” he stammered. Then, Mark stood up, and his eyes widened.

 

Mark walked towards him.

 

He sat beside him.

 

He… put his hand on Jinyoung’s lap and petted it gently.

 

 _Holy._ Jinyoung swallowed, except his throat was so tense, his saliva got stuck.

 

“I said don’t worry about it,” Mark beamed. He then added, looking up like he remembered something out of the blue, “also, don’t have to call me hyung. I prefer to keep things simple and friendly, also because we don’t do that back in the states.”

 

Jinyoung was still staring at Mark’s hand on his lap, grateful for the ugly hospital gown for the first time because if they were making direct contact, his skin might start burning already. Without looking up, he said, very tentatively, “M-Mark?”

 

“Yes, Jinyoung.”

 

“Mark,” he repeated. And a complex mix of emotions surged at him all at once. Mark’s name tasted soapy and foreign in his mouth, but at the same time he was feeling sparks of excitement and his toes were curled up in nervousness. Then a realisation hit him hard: he had a crush on Mark. And a mega, naïve one at that.

 

Well, _fuck._

* * *

 

Jackson and Youngjae were Jinyoung’s best friends, but they were in many ways, also the bane of his existence. One would think that surely, with their decade-long friendship, they would be entirely supportive of each other and shower each other with love and appreciation. But no. The sympathy that they displayed when they heard about Jinyoung’s diabetes vanished after a day, and was instead replaced by a bombardment of questions that only brought back reminders of his awkward adolescent years.

 

 _“Is that why you ran away from that girl in middle school? Because she gave sweets to you when she confessed?”_ Jackson had asked over the phone, gasping in realisation, as though he just had some kind of intellectual awakening.

 

 _“It doesn’t work that way, you idiot,”_ Jinyoung was so close to screaming into his phone – he would definitely have, if Mark wasn’t sitting right across the room. He had to explain three whole times before Jackson understood. _“Yes, yes. It’s type one diabetes. My diet is not as restricted as type two. … Yes, it’s type one. No, there’s no type three… This is why you should pay attention in biology class Jacks.”_

_“So why on earth did you run away from the prettiest girl in class?”_

_“Jackson!”_ Jinyoung had yelled, and Mark whipped his head around, his eyebrows raising in pure surprise. And that was how he had to run to the bathroom to excuse himself, _again._ In a hushed tone, he gritted his teeth as he sneered, _“I don’t swing that way, Jackson.”_

_“Fuck, Jinyoung. Are you coming out to me? Over the phone?”_

He had never found a need to come out to his family or friends. He was always too occupied with his academic work to be in a relationship anyway. Yes, he had had crushes on a few cute guys in school, but that was it. And it wasn’t like he had trouble accepting his sexual orientation. There was never a moment in his life when he felt he had to let others know he was gay. But _this,_ over the phone and in a bathroom, a door away from the potential love of his life? It far exceeded his expectations.

 

 _“Wait, so,”_ Jackson had asked before Jinyoung could give him a confirmation. _“Have you ever had a crush on me?”_

Rolling his eyes incredulously, he had replied, _“why yes, I’m so insanely in love with you. How have you not noticed?”_

 

_“Ha-ha, very funny Jinyoung. You know I like my bosoms and bottoms. Double B! OH! Is that why you were always looking at Mr. Kang’s ass? Oh my god, I should have known!”_

This was why Jinyoung couldn’t ever divulge his secrets to Jackson, especially one that could potentially have an effect on his eternal happiness. Youngjae, on the other hand, he could trust a tad more. But with the younger’s weak resilience, it wouldn’t be long before they get dug up by Jackson – like how his Netflix password got leaked to Jackson’s entire neighbourhood.

 

It was also probably the reason why he was dying of stress, slowly but surely. _Now, what to do about Mark?_ That was the question that hovered like a fire breathing dragon in his thoughts every second of the day. With nobody to share his feelings with, he did not have a clue what the answer to that question might be. With nobody to knock sense into him, he was falling deeper and deeper in love.

 

_Falling through time and space and stars and sky and everything in between._

“So, you’ve never been out of Korea before,” said Mark, repeating what Jinyoung had just told him. He seemed to not be believing that an eighteen-year-old had been living in the same town his entire life, and only just recently moved to Seoul for his high school education.  

 

“That’s right. I mean, I’ve always wanted to but you know my mother. Having this condition since I was young has made her a bit paranoid,” said Jinyoung. It was a regret he had had for a long time, not being able to travel out of his country. But he couldn’t blame his mother, knowing it was her method of loving him.

 

“I understand. But you’re going to be a legal adult soon, right? Technically, you’re free to go anywhere you want to then.”

 

“That’s true, but I wouldn’t want to break my mum’s heart.”

 

Mark’s lips shaped into an empathetic “o”, which, to Jinyoung, was dangerously distracting. They were plump, pink, and so, so pretty. _Kiss thy lips and you will see what thou create – focus! You horny teenager._ Thank goodness Mark broke their eye contact or Jinyoung could have lost his mind and leapt at him like an intoxicated, vile whore.

 

“I wanted to invite you to see my hometown, Los Angeles. But since you’re probably not going anywhere soon, maybe I should be the one visiting your hometown instead,” said Mark.

 

“My hometown? There is nothing to see. It’s just a less impressive version of Seoul, a partially developed city. Dirty streets, polluted air, and if you’re lucky you might see a bush or two,” said Jinyoung. It had never crossed his mind that anyone would ever want to visit his hometown.

 

“Nothing? But there is _you._ ”

 

 _Is Mark… flirting with me?_ Jinyoung was speechless. Mark was staring straight into his soul, his eyes unblinking and the corners of his lips were lifted ever so slightly. The scene was soundless, the air a dense liquid. All Jinyoung could hear was the soft beating of his own heart.

 

Mark coughed inwardly. “Anyway, what are you planning to do after you graduate? College?”

 

Jinyoung had to clear his throat as well. “Uh, yes. College. I’m already looking into scholarships and hopefully, I can get into the course of my choice,” he said.

  

“And that is?”

 

“Literature.”

 

“I should’ve guessed that,” Mark smiled.

 

When Jinyoung wasn’t freaking out over Mark’s inhumanely good looks, or his inhumanely pleasant voice, or simply the fact that he was having a proper conversation with him, he could safely say they were compatible. At least with regards to conversation topics, as they never seemed to run out of things to share with each other. He was never a talkative person, and neither was Mark (or so he claimed), but when it was just the two of them, it was about getting lost.

 

Jinyoung got lost in Mark’s story. And Mark got lost in Jinyoung’s talk.

 

He used to shake his head when people said they believed in soulmates. Sure, it sounded pretty in a poetry book, but he wouldn’t readily agree to its existence. Then, he met Mark, and everything changed.

 

The cynic in him had become the converted, and the sceptic, an ardent zealot.

 

* * *

  

 _We’re coming,_ texted Jackson. And as soon as Jinyoung finished reading the message, two rowdy boys bolted into the room, making a beeline straight for him without bothering to close the sliding door.

 

“I missed you so much _baby!_ ” Jackson shrieked, then let out a high-pitched giggle reminiscent of those pesky little girls in American sitcoms. He pulled Jinyoung into an overly affectionate embrace, and gave him a huge, snacking kiss on the cheek.

 

 _What the fuck?_ Jinyoung scrunched up his face in disgust and shot Jackson a death glare – _explain or die_. Even Youngjae was dumbfounded, his jaw dropped not so much in shock but in pure horror.

 

Giggling again, Jackson slapped Jinyoung’s injured arm with a flamboyant flick of his wrist. Leaning in to whisper in his ear, he slurred, “do you feel _attracted_ to me now?”

 

Jinyoung knew his friend did not mean to offend and was only joking, but still, _what a bastard._ That was the most stereotypical gay impression he’d ever witnessed and Jinyoung made a mental note to sit Jackson down one day and educate him properly on real love between men. Though to be fair, he had not talked about this with Jackson since the day it was revealed, and he knew he had to provide answers.

 

“Ew Jackson, I know you love Jinyoung to bits but can you please not do this in front of me? Get a room, seriously,” said Youngjae. He approached Jinyoung and gave him a friendly hug.

 

It was just a casual comment, just usual banter between old friends, but Jinyoung couldn’t help but notice Mark staring at them from the other side of the room. His expression was neutral and it was impossible to read; but it was obvious his eyes flickered from Jinyoung to Jackson and back to Jinyoung repeatedly.

 

Jinyoung felt the urge to leap onto his feet and make himself clear, like in a mandatory scene from a melodrama, him begging on his knees while he would watch Mark pound the wall with his defiant fists: _“it’s not what it looks like!”_

 

“…and then they decided it was a foul and the whole spectator stand rose and jeered! Can you believe that? Jinyoung? What are you staring at?” said Youngjae.

 

“Yeah, um, _who_ is that?” Jackson added.

 

Jinyoung did not realise he wasn’t paying attention to his friends’ chatter until that last question. As both Jackson and Youngjae turned to look at Mark as if he was some kind of alien species in an enclosure, reality came crashing back down on Jinyoung.

 

“Uh, that’s Mark. My ward mate,” Jinyoung said slowly and carefully. He flashed a sheepish, toothy smile – the kind one would condition their faces to have during job interviews – at the blonde. Mark nodded respectfully at the two visitors as a greeting.

 

Youngjae, being the uselessly innocent one, grinned back at him. “Wow, you look really young for your age!”

 

Jackson, on the other hand, left his word filter (and brain) at home. “ _You_ are the old man Jinyoung was talking about? But you’re _not_ an old man!”

 

 _Oh,_ how Jinyoung wished he could control his friends’ actions. They had a convenient tendency to say _just_ the right things at the right time. Mark was playing along, pretending not to understand the direction of their conversation. But Jinyoung saw right through him. Behind that subtle smile was a playful smirk threatening to escape, and it was directed right at him.

 

At this point, Jinyoung was painfully aware of the heat that had crept up his face. There was no mirror, but he was certain his face was as red as a tomato. Abashed, he grabbed Youngjae by the end of his shirt out of the ward, stumbling as he struggled with his cumbersome bandaged arm, all while kicking Jackson along.

 

With Mark out of sight and hearing, he finally exploded with the wave of heat inside him, letting out a long sigh to release all the tension in his muscles. “Oh, for the love of Charles Dickens!” he exclaimed. “I almost shat in my pants in there!”

 

Youngjae frowned in concern. “What’s wrong? Is he not the old man Jackson was telling me about?”

  
  
“Sweetie, are you blind? He’s obviously not an old man. Anyone can tell he is around our age,” Jackson scoffed, crossing his arms while shaking his head disappointedly at Jinyoung. “Explain,” he demanded.

 

Jinyoung shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Yes, well, he is not. It’s a long story you do _not_ want to hear about. In short, it was all a big misunderstanding and I just never had the time to tell you guys about it. What’s the big deal?”

 

“ _What’s the big deal?_ For heaven’s sake, Mr. Park,” Jackson whined, moving his hand to clutch at his heart dramatically in expression of his hurt.

 

“Yeah, I don’t get what the fuss is,” concurred Youngjae.

 

Pushing up his imaginary glasses, Jackson straightened his back and put on a serious face. “The big deal,” he began, “is that our dear friend – _best_ friend – Jinyoung cheated our feelings by lying about the identity of his ward mate.”

 

“But he already said it was a misunderstanding,” said Youngjae.

 

“No, no, my dear child. You are too innocent for your own good,” cooed Jackson. He then attempted to speak in the most erudite tone he could conjure, sounding vaguely like their discipline master in school. “According to my god-like calculations, something is not right. One, Jinyoung claims he had not had the time to contact us. I call _bullshit._ Does he have lessons? Assignments? No! He’s lazing his butt off on that bed all day long!”

 

Jinyoung opened his mouth to object, but was mercilessly dismissed, interrupted by Jackson’s pretentious voice. “Two, did you see that smitten look on his face just now? Glowing, glittery hearts were literally popping out from his eyes. I didn’t know a person can go so long without blinking! And that blush on his cheeks – come on, that shade of red can outshine my lucky underwear.”

 

“N-n-nonsense!” Jinyoung spluttered, his eyes shaking anxiously.

 

“See what I mean? Just, will you take a good look at this boy? Flustered, blushing, so quick to deny! I haven’t even made my conclusion yet,” said Jackson. Jinyoung wished he could wipe that smug look off his best friend’s face.

 

“You’re saying…” Youngjae began.

 

Jackson clicked his tongue as he snapped his fingers in glee. “That’s right! Park Jinyoung is in _love_ ,” he announced proudly, emphasising on the ‘L’ word so exaggeratedly that Jinyoung was prompted to look around furtively in case someone was listening.

 

“I am _not!_ ” he denied, a little too aggressively, making him seem even more suspicious than before.

 

“You are not what?”

 

“I am not in lo–” Jinyoung paused in the middle of his sentence, unable to continue. He had planned to fight his way using his usually glib tongue, but apparently, his tongue had tied up along with the guts in his body. _There’s no reason to feel guilty or nervous,_ he told himself. But that was exactly how he was feeling – guilty like he committed murder and nervous with a sour taste in his mouth – because he knew he was not being honest about his feelings.

 

Jackson was evidently not buying it. “Then what? Are you two” - he gasped - “ _fucking each other?_ ”

 

It was Youngjae’s turn to yell. After struggling to follow the bizarre flow of conversation for minutes, he could take it no longer. “Okay, can someone tell me what the hell is going on? Why am I out of the loop? What’s this about Jinyoung liking _what’s his name?_ Mark? Wait, since when did Jinyoung like guys?” He eyed Jackson, who pressed his lips in a tight line and shrugged.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Youngjae asked, mildly offended. His question was surprisingly directed to Jackson instead of Jinyoung.

 

“Hey, it was Jinyoung’s secret. Besides, I know how to maintain my right to silence in a total of five languages, okay?” said Jackson.

 

Youngjae narrowed his eyes, refusing to budge until Jackson raised both hands in defeat. “Okay, okay! I thought it would be funny to see your reaction to this with Jinyoung present. I came here wanting to tease him, but who knew he already has his little boy toy and doesn’t care about us anymore,” Jackson groused.

 

At the side, Jinyoung had already given up trying to argue. It was not within his capabilities to win a verbal fight when his friends had his tail. They were _not_ wrong. He just leaned against the wall in surrender, energy draining from his face.

 

Youngjae gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “I understand you, friend. Welcome to the club. Now we can talk about cute boys together and let Jackson ogle at girls on his own,” he said.

 

For a moment, Jinyoung felt strangely relieved, that at least one of his best friends could understand him, and not make fun of him… or so he thought.

 

“So, are you two _really_ fucking each other?” Youngjae snickered.

 

* * *

 

Later, in the cafeteria when they were having lunch together, Jaebum spotted them and came strutting over in his usual ramrod posture.

 

“Your latest results are out, and I have two things to tell you,” he said to Jinyoung, waving the envelope in his hand. He considered the two visitors who were staring back at him (one of them with an enamoured gaze), as if he was asking for permission to speak in their presence.

 

“Go ahead, it’s fine. They’re my friends and they won’t care if I have lopsided balls,” Jinyoung replied, tossing in the joke just to see Jaebum’s facial muscles twitch, even if it was just by a nanometre – it didn’t.

 

“Firstly, your fracture is healing well, and you will be able to remove your cast in an estimate of two to three weeks.”

 

“Oh, smashin’!”

 

“Secondly,” Jaebum paused to study the charts on the report, “due to your diabetic condition and medical history, your body has developed a resistance against the cephalexin we used on you. This resulted in the spread of bacteria, specifically _staphylococcus_ , deeper into your tissues at a rate beyond our expectations. Your immune system, already weakened by your high blood sugar, is unsubstantial to heal your external wound, especially with an added burden with your new antibiotic immunity. We will switch your intake to flucloxacillin, and hopefully it would be strong enough to aid your immune system.”

 

“Um, sorry but, what the flying fuck is he talking about?” Jackson asked Jinyoung, completely ignoring Jaebum’s existence.

 

“In simple terms, your infection has gotten worse and we’ll have to have you hospitalised for another week or so,” Jaebum answered anyway. It was amazing how he was still expressionless.

 

“Oh, so Jinyoung is stuck here for another week?” Jackson confirmed, then squealed excitedly. “That is _brilliant_!”

 

Jaebum’s eyes flickered, the rare, slight movement indicating his confusion of why a friend would be delighted at his patient’s misfortune. He looked like he was going to say something, but eventually did not, and just walked away as usual, his starchy white coat moving stiffly behind him.

 

“You know what that means,” Jackson suggested, voice bubbling with feeling. “You have a week, which is seven days, or 168 whole hours to convince you-know-who to get you laid!”

 

“Stop, before I show up before your basketball collection with a box of nails. Also, just so you know, you are a _great_ friend,” Jinyoung rolled his eyes.

 

“Ha-ha! Just remember to update me. I want all the nitty-gritty details,” Jackson winked, to Jinyoung’s distaste. He then added, “by the way, does that Jaebum always speak like that? Does he not care if people don’t understand him? Does he think speaking big, pretentious words makes him look hotter or what?”

 

“Dunno,” said Jinyoung.

 

Youngjae, on the contrary, smacked his lips vulgarly. “He _is_ fucking hot! Flaming!”

 

Jinyoung chuckled. _Oh_ , what to do with his friends?

 

* * *

 

When he arrived back at the ward, Jinyoung was terrified to see a whole load of invasive-looking equipment by his bed. He was forced against his will to lie down, got poked black and blue by Nayeon in her desultory search for his veins, and was now strapped to a heart rate monitor. He felt like a specimen in some kind of sick experiment, lying helplessly while connected to machines by ugly wires.

 

“You alright?” Mark asked from his bed. He was sitting up, concerned, neck craning in attempt to get a good view of Jinyoung’s face.

 

 _“I’m fine, thank you”_ was what Jinyoung intended to say. But after his friends made a big hoo-ha in front of Mark, he somehow felt he was back to when they talked for the first time, shame and embarrassment causing him to only be able to croak in response.

 

He heard footsteps, approaching.

 

“Mind if I sit here? It’s easier to talk like that, plus, I don’t mind getting some extra sunlight,” said Mark. His close proximity amplified his voice, and Jinyoung was suddenly engulfed by the vibrations of his sweet tone.

 

“S-sure.” He could feel his heart panicking.

 

“Feeling okay with all this?” he asked again, referring to the medical equipment.

 

“It’s kinda inconvenient, but I guess it’s fine. Can’t wait to get them off though,” said Jinyoung.

 

Mark hummed in understanding. “Yeah, I feel you. But it’s probably necessary. I heard them talking about giving you a new antibiotic? The IV’s to supply you with the extra vitamins to boost your immune system. Helps with the switch in the pills. And the heart rate monitor’s just a precaution, in case you get a bad allergic reaction or something. It’s really unnecessary, to be honest.”

 

“How do you know so much about this? Have you been here for a long time?” Jinyoung himself had been to the hospital more often than the average person, yet he was still largely unfamiliar with most medical procedures. Mark was, least to say, well-versed.

 

“Mhmm,” came the ambiguous reply. Undoubtedly, Mark was reluctant to talk about it, and the last thing Jinyoung wanted to do was to force an answer. The elder cleared his throat to change the topic. “Your friends came to visit,” he stated, acknowledging their brief encounter.

 

“Um, yes. I’m sorry they were noisy and if they offended you in any way, I apologise,” said Jinyoung.

 

“Oh, not at all! They weren’t a bother and they were very friendly, calling me an old man and stuff,” Mark joked, chuckling quietly. He was quick to clarify that he was just kidding, but Jinyoung’s red face gave away that he was never really over it. “What were their names again? Jackson and?”

 

Mark was clearly listening to every word they said when Jinyoung’s friends were over, having remembered Jackson’s name. “The other one’s Youngjae,” he said. “The one with the eye-smile. And the snapback dude is Jackson.”

 

Mark hesitated. “And Jackson, he’s your–”

 

“– _not_ my boyfriend!” Jinyoung cut in, almost shouting. _Yikes._ “Yeah he’s just annoying and was teasing me. Not my boyfriend, no way.”

 

Maybe it was the vehement determination in his words that were funny, or perhaps Mark just found him being flustered amusing, that his face lit up upon hearing that Jackson was just a friend. Jinyoung didn’t want to get his hopes up.

 

Trying to divert from this direction of conversation, Jinyoung racked his brains for whatever – any question – to ask Mark.

 

“Are you naturally blonde?” he eventually blurted. It might have been a stupid question, but he was genuinely curious. In his defense, because they were in a hospital, who was to judge if something like this could be part of a condition or disorder? Also, he didn’t think bleached hair could look so flawless.

 

That got Mark in a fit of giggles, and Jinyoung melted a little at how pure and innocent he sounded. “You’re so silly!” the elder said. “Of course it’s not! Do I look Caucasian to you?”

 

 _With those ludicrously defined features, yes,_ thought Jinyoung, but he shook his head instead. “What made you want to bleach your hair anyway?” he asked.

 

“I guess I’ve always wanted to try it. And I know what they say about it being damaging to your hair, but now that I’ve come to this point, I thought: why not?” Mark replied, bringing his fingers to play with his fringe. A couple of strands fell out, and he laughed. “Look! They’re gonna all fall out sooner or later anyway.”

 

Jinyoung sent him a questioning look. Mark never talked about his condition; in fact, it was one of the reasons why Jinyoung liked talking to him. It made him forget they were patients. It made him feel healthy, and alive. Yet he was feeling a different kind of connection to Mark now that he seemed to be comfortable about sharing his life with him.

 

“Well, I guess there’s really nothing to hide,” Mark began, the words coiling out of him. Jinyoung could tell he had never spoken at length about this to anyone. “I’m diagnosed with leukaemia.”

 

There was a pause. A void. A moment of them just waiting for each other’s response. But there was no exclamation, no offer of condolences.

 

Mark continued, “it’s chronic myeloid leukaemia, to be exact. Basically, my bone marrow is wonky and produces good-for-nothing cells. I didn’t find out about it in the earlier stages. It was only when I came to Korea to study that I began to feel unwell, started to lose weight, and that’s that. Doctor said I was already at the accelerated phase. I was going to come back for treatment two days after and my body decided to be a bitch and take things up a notch. I was suddenly at the final, acute phase – the blast phase – and here I am. For three months and counting.”

 

His shoulders relaxed after that explanation, as if a load was taken off him. He remained smiling, but it wasn’t like his usual smile: the corners of his lips were lifted, but they didn’t quite reach his eyes.

 

Jinyoung let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He thought he would be overwhelmed with different emotions, but he was in fact startlingly calm. Deep inside his heart ached, not because of the possibility of losing Mark in his life, but because he could feel the pain in the latter’s eyes. He quickly realised that it didn’t matter to him. He had truly fallen for Mark, and it didn’t matter even if he told him he was an alien from Mars. Mark was still Mark.

 

Also, he could tell the elder was trying to keep things light in his explanation, trying to prevent the mood between them to become sombre. And he didn’t want him to feel the need to downplay his illness out of consideration. Now, all he wished was for the chance to stay by Mark’s side no matter how life played out.

 

“Cool, thanks for telling me,” he said.

 

Mark looked at him like he just said a forbidden word. He cocked his head to the side and said, “you do realise what I’m saying, right? Jinyoung ah, I’m _terminal_.”

 

The ‘T’ word. Jinyoung detested it. “Don’t say that, you’re not terminal. Everyone has a chance at life and yours is as equal as anyone else’s. Just don’t come knocking at my door when you’re eighty looking for somebody to play chess with,” he joked. The last part was a lie; he would very much _prefer_ if his relationship with Mark sustained till they were on walking sticks, with falling teeth.

 

Mark visibly lightened up, sporting a slightly amused expression. “That’ll take a miracle,” he said.

 

“I quote Osho: _‘Be realistic: plan for a miracle’_.”

 

With this, Mark was smiling – not a forced arrangement of facial muscles, but an actual smile from within him. “Come on, this is not something I can plan for. Are you trying to play god, Jinyoung?”

 

Beneath his worry and heartache, happiness was beginning to bubble again at the pit of Jinyoung’s stomach. This was the Mark he’d wanted to see, and he fell back into their casual banter, like nothing changed.

 

“Move aside, Jesus! I’m your new god, Park Jinyoung!” he bellowed, and Mark fell over with laughter.

 

This was bliss. This was love.

 

They sat beside each other on Jinyoung’s bed for the next few hours chatting, shoulder to shoulder, looking out of the window at the solitary tree. Somehow, with the sun setting behind the horizon, the used-to-be-dreary scenery was now basked in a warm, orange light. Together, in a calm silence, they watched the birds dance in the distant sky.

 

“Remember when you said you felt the tree is still beautiful, and is standing strong despite all odds against it?” Mark brought up.

 

“Yes,” said Jinyoung, memories of their conversation a week ago floating back to him. “And that its beauty is in its loneliness.”

 

“Yeah, its beauty is in its loneliness, and its resilience,” Mark nodded, gazing thoughtfully at the subject of matter. “I aspire to be like that, like that tree. I want to be strong and tenacious, even if I’m the loneliest person on this planet.”

 

Jinyoung turned to look at Mark. He glowed under the light of the evening sun, the soft light deflecting at the angles of his face in the most alluring way, highlighting his grace and beauty. But it was also under the light that Jinyoung noticed the little details that signified his suffering: his tired eyes, his sunken cheeks.

 

“But you’re not the loneliest person on this planet,” he said.

 

“I am,” sighed Mark. “I don’t have anyone who cares about me. My family is back in the states, and ever since my parents divorced, we all went our different ways. My siblings all moved to different states, and lost all contact with each other. They never called, not once. In fact, I can’t say for sure that they know I’m in Korea.”

 

Jinyoung could feel that familiar tightness in his chest before he cries, and he bit his lip to suppress the urge to. He wouldn’t have guessed the easy-going, always-smiling Mark he knew would have gone through such hardship. Thinking about how difficult it could have been for Mark to bottle up all of this in himself sparked a sadness in him he had never felt before.

 

“I tried calling at least a hundred times, when I found out about my leukaemia. They never picked up, and I left voice messages on every single failed call. It’s been three months, I’ve not received a reply. I feel like I’m just a nuisance to them. Sometimes, I don’t even know if I can still call them family.” Mark sighed again, scratching his forehead in frustration. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to keep giving bad vibes. It just felt right to say it today, you know. At the right time, to the right person,” he said.

 

 _To the right person,_ Jinyoung repeated in his head. At this moment, he would do anything, give up anything – even his life – to cheer Mark up.

 

“Do you know the dandelion flower?” he asked the elder, mind wandering to when his grandmother used to gush about flowers to him. She had given him a book right before her passing, _The Flower Language_ , endowing him the gift of the wonderful meanings of different flowers.

 

“I think so,” said Mark. “The yellow one?”

 

“Yes, but I’m talking about when it’s past its blooming stage and has become the white puff of seeds.”

 

Mark’s face blossomed in understanding; he let out a silent _“ah”_.

 

Jinyoung continued, “the dandelion means many different things in the flower language, and one of them is the strength to survive all challenges and difficulties. Some people find it a nuisance, and think of it as nothing but a garden weed. Yet, no matter how hard people try to get rid of the dandelions in their backyard, they always appear. With a gentle push from the wind, its seeds will disperse, spreading new life everywhere. It’s the symbol of courage, and its existence is never forgotten. You’re just like that, Mark. It doesn’t matter what others view you as, nuisance or not, you are yourself. You are brave and you are resilient. And you will always find a way to rise back up.”

 

Mark’s attention was drawn to Jinyoung’s eyes, making direct contact. And Jinyoung was feeling brave, in essence of the dandelion. He gazed right back into those shiny eyes. They were dark and emotional, the specks of golden brown sparkling with promise.

 

“You think I’m like the dandelion?” Mark asked, his voice small yet hopeful.

 

“Yes, and I can be your wind,” Jinyoung finished.

 

The sun was now fully retired, and darkness took over. It was an inky black; no stars, no moon, but still a beautiful darkness. As Jinyoung got lost following the last of the lingering light, he felt an unexpected warmth engulfing his unbandaged hand. Surprised, he looked down, to see Mark’s hand encasing his.

 

“Thank you, Jinyoung,” said Mark.

 

And all of a sudden, in the empty night sky, Jinyoung saw dizzying stars.

 

 _“your hand_  
touching mine.  
this is how  
galaxies collide.”

The next thing he knew, Nayeon was rushing in, in a frenzy, because his heart rate monitor went off with an alert. _Beep beep beep…_ But he remained smiling like an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again everyone! I really enjoyed writing this chapter so it turned out longer than I planned. Nevertheless, hope you enjoyed it as much as I did and please leave comments if you have any feedback so I can make improvements. Thank you for staying with me and for the kudos so far xx


	3. Fourth Dimension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my first time writing a whole chunk of (a less vulgar version of) smut, forgive me for I have sinned (and enjoy as you may) x

The line between infatuation and love was inconveniently unclear, especially for Jinyoung. For someone without any experience beyond the flawless, designed love he’d learnt about in novels and movies, it was a line invisible to his naïve eyes.

 

Jinyoung found himself turning to literature for answers. _What is love?_ A feeling? A longing? A need? The idyllic rhymes spoken by the poets seemed to touch a string in him every time – he could relate to everything, or at least he thought so. _“If I had a flower every time I thought of you, I could walk through my garden forever.”_ Jinyoung’s garden was blooming, lush with flowers like a colourful canvas. If Alfred Tennyson was right, he was in love.

 

But Tennyson didn’t say anything about what kind of thoughts he should be having.

 

Before, Jinyoung was confident to admit he was falling in love for Mark. Yet ever since they held hands, he’d been seeing him in a different light. He literally could not tear his sight away from Mark. That man was captivating to the point of bewitching, like he had casted a spell on Jinyoung and willed to make him feel hot and bothered in his presence.

 

He should be thinking of how worn out Mark was after his chemotherapy sessions, and how he must have been in so much pain. He should be thinking of how to comfort him, to assure him that everything was going well. Yet, whenever Mark came back to their ward, all that went through his mind was his desire to be physically close to him: to hold his hand again, to embrace him, to _kiss_ him.

 

He was often so distracted by the beauty radiating from Mark that he would forget to say the words of encouragement he had planned to. He felt so ashamed of his impure thirst, and felt worse about his inability to understand it. He had never felt such an insatiable need towards his past crushes; as always, Mark was a different story.

 

It was likely because he’d never felt this way before that he was doubting his own feelings, afraid that he somehow lost his moral compass, that he was being dragged into a black hole of no return.

 

He texted his friends to get an outsider’s opinion. Not that he thought they would be of much help, but figuring this _love_ and relationship thing on his own was an ordeal, especially since he’d never been in a relationship before.

 

 _S.O.S,_ Jinyoung sent in their group chat with Jackson and Youngjae. The reply was instant, as expected from the teenage phone addicts that they all were.

 

YOUNGJAE: _are you okay????_

JACKSON: _why, what’s up! if it’s because u need condoms imma fly there rn_

Jinyoung sighed. Why did he think it was a good idea to text Jackson again? His thumbs fiddled restlessly on his phone screen, thinking of how to start the conversation. After much pondering, he typed: _how do I know if I’m really in love, or just infatuated?_

He held his breath as his right thumb hovered over the “send” button, the words running through his mind countless times within seconds. He then hit the “backspace” key and re-typed his message.

 

_“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,_

_And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”_

_What do you think about this, guys?_

He could almost hear Jackson flipping tables in the classroom with the onslaught of replies.

 

JACKSON:  _wtf are you talking about_

JACKSON:  _omg what are u up to again_

JACKSON: _can u speak in human language pls_

YOUNGJAE: _jinyoung, is everything okay? you only talk in poems when shit is up_

Jinyoung peeked at Mark, who was getting ready to go for his chemotherapy session, from behind his phone screen. _Yes, I’m fine,_ he typed. _Just answer me please?_

YOUNGJAE:  _fine but if you need to talk we’re here okay?_

YOUNGJAE:  _well I think it makes sense_

JACKSON:  _um can someone explain to me what it means bcos idgi_

YOUNGJAE:  _basically that love is not just about looks & physical attraction? like there’s no such thing as love at first sight _

JINYOUNG:  _yeah it’s that… so you agree?_

JACKSON:  _which idiot said that?????!_

JINYOUNG:  _…Shakespeare?_

JACKSON:  _why is such an idiot so popular with nerds like u, is he hot?_

Jinyoung must have been looking pissed because Mark was glancing over concernedly. The elder was slipping into his shoes, ready to leave. “You alright there, Jinyoung?” he asked.

 

Feigning a smile, Jinyoung nodded, and Mark seemed to be convinced as he left after saying goodbye. As the door slid shut, Jinyoung exhaled heavily and returned to his phone, where a debate had already kicked off.

 

YOUNGJAE:  _shut your nonsense, wang_

JACKSON:  _what! it doesn’t make sense to me man… you’re saying if someone’s personality is good, you’ll fall in love with him? even if you’ve never seen him before?_

YOUNGJAE:  _hey, it’s not impossible. Were you sleeping when we were watching Love, Simon?_

YOUNGJAE:  _didn’t you see them eating face like 5 seconds after they first met, after emailing each other for forever… he was clearly in love_

JACKSON:  _that’s different_

YOUNGJAE:  _in what way??_

JACKSON:  _he was a decent looking dude, not ugly like Jabba the Hutt_

YOUNGJAE:  _excuse me, Blue was cute af okay he wasn’t just a “decent looking dude”_

What an intellectual discussion they were having.

 

JINYOUNG:  _um guys_

JACKSON:  _ur finally back! pls save me from lorenzo choi he’s getting defensive_

YOUNGJAE: … _was not_

 

It didn’t take brains for Jinyoung to immediately decide to ignore their petty argument. He mulled over the best way to ask his question without raising suspicion, but apparently, he wasn’t very good at that.

 

JINYOUNG:  _so if someone is more physically than emotionally attracted to somebody, it’s not true love?_

JACKSON:  _u could have just said that Mark’s too hot for you to handle_

YOUNGJAE:  _so this is what it’s about…_

Jinyoung blushed. Damn his friends and _damn_ his stupid, horny self.

 

JACKSON:  _nth to be shy about bro_

YOUNGJAE:  _yeah, and true love is some confusing shit… there’s no saying you don’t love Mark if you’re always thinking about getting it on with him_

YOUNGJAE:  _besides,_ _isn’t it normal if you’re interested in him_

YOUNGJAE:  _also why are you worried about this unless mark is some kind of emotionless psychopath who wants to sleep with you just for your body_

JACKSON:  _or are u the emotionless psychopath_

JINYOUNG:  _ok bye I’m done_

What made things worse was that Mark’s mind was impossible to read. It was probably because he was so nice all the time, that Jinyoung realised he could have easily mistaken friendly gestures for something more. Perhaps the sincere eyes and earnest smile were just a part of Mark’s habits and meant nothing more than an amiable front. Perhaps his gentle words to Jinyoung were no different to what he would say to a stranger. Perhaps the time when they held hands – when sequin-silver stars like the scattered embers of a dying fire winked down at Jinyoung – was merely an insignificant contact of skins. No feelings, with nothing attached.

 

If that were true, Jinyoung would be undeniably disappointed. Truth to be told, he was half expecting a romantic proposal from Mark after the elder took the initiative to hold his hand. He would say yes to becoming boyfriends, have his first kiss under the intimate moonlight, and cuddle in bed until they both succumb to the enchantment of dreamland. But none of that happened, and Mark acted the same as before.

 

His garden of flowers might be lavish and abundant, but maybe Mark’s was bare as a desert.

 

* * *

 

 “You’re recovering well,” said Jaebum when he came for his nightly rounds. “The new antibiotics seem to suit you better, now that your wound is almost completely recovered. The rate of recovery for your fracture is also very optimistic.”

 

“Thanks, Jaebum. When can I remove the cast?” Jinyoung asked. It was not that the cast was impeding his life massively, since he wasn’t exactly doing much in the hospital, but it was getting a bit irritating being a hindrance to his daily tasks.

 

“In a week, if nothing goes wrong.”

 

Jinyoung smiled in relief. Things like using his phone or eating without chopsticks was manageable without his master hand, but actions that require larger movements, such as taking a shower, was a total nuisance. Jinyoung would have chosen not to shower at all if it weren’t for his fear of Mark seeing him as an unhygienic freak.

 

He grabbed his towel and a fresh set of clothes from his bedside counter, and was about to head to the bathroom before Mark came back, for another torturous struggle of trying to get water and soap everywhere except his cast, when he realised Jaebum was still standing there.

 

“You have something else to say,” stated Jinyoung, pausing in his tracks.

 

“Indeed,” said Jaebum. He was scribbling something on his clipboard, then he finished whatever he was writing with a harsh dot that created a loud thud, like a note of finality. “You’re ready to be discharged tomorrow.”

 

Jaebum’s final words lingered in the air and seemed not to be able to reach the processing function of Jinyoung’s brain. Part of him couldn’t wait to be permitted freedom again, but there was a strong sense of disappointment in him that restrained him from shouting in joy. He wouldn’t be able to see Mark daily anymore. Sure, he could visit, but it was different from breathing the same air 24/7.

 

He was about to try to convince Jaebum into letting him stay for a few more days but the latter seemed to have read his mind, and interrupted his plans mercilessly. “I’ve already let your mother know. She is elated. So I will see you one last time tomorrow morning and hopefully, _never again._ ”

 

If it were someone else saying that to Jinyoung, he would have been seriously hurt by the harsh words. However, because it was Jaebum, it had no such effect on him. It probably translated to _“please take care so you won’t have to come back to the hospital again”,_ which was honestly, pretty sweet. That still didn’t mean Jinyoung was happy that he one-upped him by telling his mother.

 

In any way, there was nothing much he could do.

 

As Jinyoung stepped into the shower, the will to keep his cast dry faded instantaneously. With his mind in shreds, exhausted from ruminating over his feelings for Mark and vice-versa plus the new information of his hospital discharge, he simply craved for a hot, relaxing shower.

 

The water poured down, dripping by his sides as his mind faded into dullness and everything became a foggy illusion. The pitter-patter of the steamy water calmed him, to the point where his soaked bandages did not bother him. With the released tension in his body, his mind was free to run, and Jinyoung found his head in an inexplicable world between reality and fantasy.

 

At first, he wondered about what it was going to be like when he would get discharged. Jinyoung liked school, but adjusting to the long hours of lectures after lazing about for weeks could take some effort. He also would have to get used to the increased average decibel of his surroundings (thanks to Jackson and Youngjae).

 

He then thought about what to do with Mark. Would he visit? If so, how often? Would Mark want him to visit? Would they exchange numbers, text, call? Strangely enough, despite how close they had become, they never bothered to discuss the future of their friendship, as though they were going to be ward mates for the rest of their lives.

 

Thinking of Mark was a mistake. As one thought led to another, Jinyoung was horrified to realise where his mind ended up at – in the gutter. The feeling of disgust he had of himself was only so brief, before he succumbed to his warped reasoning that Mark was to blame. How could he stop himself from associating a very sexy, half-naked Mark with the same bathroom they’d first met at? There was no way.

 

In no time, Jinyoung was touching himself, acceded to his own insatiable, dirty craving. He’d done this plenty of times, as any normal teenager would, but using his left hand was a first. It would have been much more convenient if he could just whip his right hand out of his stiff cast, yet he was fumbling about like a first-timer.

 

It was awkward, _inelegant_ – not that masturbation was a particularly exquisite act but Jinyoung was feeling much clumsier than usual – and it felt unfamiliar, almost like he was getting a hand job from someone else. It could be more pleasurable with practice, but for now, he was only interested in getting off as quickly as possible and his left hand just was not adept enough.

 

 _Come on,_ he chided himself, _before Mark comes back._

He supplied his own mind with sinful images that deeply aroused him: the veins in Mark’s arms, his smooth and slender neck, even the delicate angle of which his collarbones would rise from beneath his translucent skin. It did him more bad than good, feeding his already throbbing erection which his left hand just could not catch up with. As if jerking off with an injured arm wasn’t difficult enough, the water was getting in the way, blurring his vision and making him lose concentration.

 

With a quick mental count, Jinyoung realised he had already been in the shower for about half an hour. In minutes, if he was unlucky, Nayeon might come knocking on the door in fear of him fainting. He had to be quick.

 

It was when he held his breath to avoid the water from entering his mouth that he remembered a “nifty trick” imparted to him from Jackson (involuntarily, of course). It just showed how desperate he was, to be able to entertain his annoying friend’s voice in his head while having his genitalia in his hand. _“Do you know that holding your breath while doing it makes you come faster?”_ Usually, he would laugh it off, but his desperation drove him to do stupid things, like listening to this piece of dubious advice.

 

Almost immediately after he willed himself not to breathe, the sensation of water hitting against his skin heightened, as though action slowed to a dreamlike glide and everything was magnified into focus. He stared at himself in lewd curiosity as he brushed his thumb against his tip, then he choked on his held breath as a spark of pleasure ran down his spine. _Holy fuck._

_Again,_ was his first instinct. He did the same, except this time he grabbed the whole of his length with his fist and moved, at first languidly as he savoured the new sensitivity, then faster and faster, like the frenzied hormones in him had gone supernova. He gave up trying to restrain his imagination, letting it run wild and free. He could almost feel it; Mark being with him…

 

Mark  _touching_ him.

 

He would moan, but with his lips sealed shut, what came out was instead ungraceful garbled noises.

 

But it felt good, and that was all that mattered.

 

As momentum built up, he could feel a familiar warm sensation pooling in his abdomen. There was no longer awareness of the fact that he was pleasuring himself in a hospital bathroom, nor the fact that the main character of his fantasies might just be a door away. He’d hate to admit this himself but it was the truth of the moment: he was just one of those sex-deprived teenage boys who only think of orgasming and nothing else.

 

He shut his eyes in preparation for the incoming peak, his left hand speeding up until it was flailing, out of control. He was almost there.

 

_Just a bit more…_

And then it hit him suddenly: a wave of dizziness. He saw black, and in a split second, he was on the floor, wheezing like air coming out of a deflated balloon. When he regained his vision, he became aware of the mess he’d become. Shampoo bottles scattered everywhere, soapy water flooding the bathroom, and himself, plopped onto the ground like some promiscuous feature at a brothel, dishevelled with dripping wet hair and a (still) raging hard-on.

 

The pain came later, a dull ache on his bottom that intensified into a sharp pain as his adrenaline died down. Groaning, he pulled his limp body up. _What to do now?_ He was barely standing, hurt, and still had _something_ to take care of.

 

However, Jinyoung had no time to think of a solution, for someone was knocking – or rather, banging – the bathroom door as if their life was at stake. It was furious; urgent, like they had a bad case of diarrhoea and desperately needed to use the toilet. If only that was the case.

 

Jinyoung had a feeling, one that was unexplainable but overpowering, that the person behind the door was Mark. It seemed like his biggest nightmare was a hair away from coming true, and despite sending prayers to all the gods and deities he could think of in that short period of time, dread was settling in him steadily, like his subconscience knew what was to come.

 

“Jinyoung! Is that you inside? Are you okay? Answer me!”

 

It was Mark, and Jinyoung didn’t know whether to laugh in defeat or cry like a baby, because _crap._

 

The knocking persisted, relentless. Mark was almost shouting at this point. “Jinyoung! Say something if you’re in there! What was that noise? Did you fall? Please, say something if you’re alright!”

 

A coil of fear wrenched in Jinyoung’s stomach while he had a mini life crisis. _What to do? What to do?_ He glanced down at his erection and cursed a million times under his breath. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

 

“If you don’t say something, I’m going to knock down the door!” declared Mark, panic rising in his voice.

 

“No!” shouted Jinyoung, wincing only after he realised he gave away his identity. “I m-mean, I’m fine! You don’t have to knock down the door.”

 

There was a huge sigh of relief on the other side. “Are you sure? You don’t sound fine. Did you fall? I heard a loud thud and things falling over.”

 

“Yeah, um, I slipped,” admitted Jinyoung. “But I’m really fine!” He stared at his undying arousal and it stared back at him, flushing in an angry red like a reproach. _Lies,_ it said.

“Okay,” came the reply, and Jinyoung was instantly relieved. But of course, good things never last, and the temporary sense of relief was nothing but a mirage – too good to be true. There were footsteps from behind the door; Mark was pacing, walking back and forth as if in thought, and then he spoke again. “No, I think I still need to check on you for me to feel reassured. You have a broken arm, Jinyoung, we need to make sure that is still okay. Will you open the door please?”

 

It was already tough to reject a request when it was so full of sincerity and concern, but it was impossible when Mark was the one behind it. Without a doubt, Jinyoung was conflicted. He felt ashamed, not quite yet getting caught red-handed for masturbating at the thought of Mark but it was basically that if the latter whiffed a scent of what was _really_ going on in the shower. Yet, it seemed like a better option to open the door himself, rather than having Mark come in with a flying kick and see him sprawled naked on the floor. Surely, if he only popped his head out the door, Mark wouldn’t notice, _right?_

Turning the doorknob was excruciating, like he was opening the gates to hell. It took all of Jinyoung’s willpower to go against the alarm bells ringing in his head warning him of impending doom. With the door slightly ajar, the breeze of cold air against his damp skin invoked a new, stark realisation of his nakedness. The towel wrapped around his waist did nothing to make him feel more covered, especially with that visible tent in the fabric, only creating a nagging fear that it might fall off anytime.

“H-hi,” said Jinyoung, smiling sheepishly as he stuck his head out of the door, the rest of his body angled awkwardly to be as far away from the entrance as possible. He was looking in the direction of Mark but not really at him, vision still unclear in his daze.

 

The worried creases in Mark’s forehead disappeared as he saw Jinyoung. “Thank goodness. Are you hurt anywhere? Can you walk properly? How about your arm?”

 

“Yeah, I said I’m fine, look!” said Jinyoung. Contrary to his words, he scooted further away from Mark’s view, bending his waist over even more to maintain his obscured position. Holding this uncomfortable posture for a while, however, took a toll on his back and his tail bone which was still painful from the fall began hurting even more.

 

“You look like you’re in pain, Jinyoung,” said Mark, unconvinced. “Just let me take a look, and we’ll call Jaebum over to check on you if it’s serious.”

 

“N-no, it’s really okay–”

 

“–I insist!” Mark interrupted, holding onto Jinyoung’s hand. He tugged him over gently, but Jinyoung refused to budge, which to him was further validation that the younger was indeed hurt.

 

By then, Jinyoung was definitively lost. He did not know what to do, and he was freaking out. _Fight or flight?_ He chose to do both, firstly yanking his hand off from Mark’s grip, then running away, which seemed to be a good idea until he realised there was no escape route that would magically appear from behind the toilet bowl.

 

When he played football as a kid, his coach had always instructed him to guard his own area without fail. _“Leave your position, and your opponent will attack,”_ he had said, and he was right. The consequence for leaving the door meant that Mark could come into the bathroom. And the next thing Jinyoung knew, Mark was standing right in front of him, scanning him from head to toe.

 

Jinyoung gulped as cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He willed his erection to go down, forcing unpleasant imageries of unsexy things like the repugnant security guard at his flat digging his nose, then begged the heavens that Mark wouldn’t notice. _Please, don’t look down, don’t look down…_

“Good,” said Mark, and Jinyoung’s breath hitched. _What? What’s good?_ The elder continued, “you’re right. You seem fine. Be careful, Jinyoung. Look, even your cast is all wet!”

 

“Ah. Y-yeah, I told you I was alright. There’s nothing to worry about, it was just a short fall.”

 

Mark smiled, genuinely relieved. “It can be cumbersome with just one hand. You could have asked me to _help_ , you know?”

 

This wasn’t a figment of his imagination, Jinyoung had to remind himself. Mark’s words replayed repeatedly in his head, and perhaps it was his oversexed hormones thinking, but his mind uncontrollably trailed to a disgraceful domain of sex, sex and sex. Mark was offering his _help?_ Well, _fuck,_ because something was getting excited again.

 

“I-I’m,” he stuttered, his whole chest burning with cardinal heat. He bit his lower lip and glimpsed down; the tent was even more distinct than before. It was a dangerous mistake, driven by illogical reasoning and recalcitrant lust. And only when he saw Mark’s eyes tracing down to where he was looking at a second ago he realised, it was all his wishful thinking.

 

But it was too late now, Mark was already looking. He stiffened, then his back blossomed with understanding and he blushed furiously.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” he said simply.

 

Jinyoung moved his lips, just barely, searching for proper words in the air, but they were nowhere to be found. They stood in unbearable silence, no words and no breaths, completely void of sound until a drop of water from the leaking tap hit the tiled floor. It was deafening, a smack of reality right in Jinyoung’s face, and he was suddenly very aware of the maniacal thumping of his heart against his bare chest.

 

“That’s n-not what I meant,” Mark began, then shook his head vigorously. “No, I mean, I’m sorry for interrupting. I didn’t see anything. Nothing at all.” He was clearly lying; his eyes were looking, and his ears were red. When he then caught himself staring, his eyes darted around anxiously and he attempted to leave, staggering on his first step.

 

“Wait!” Jinyoung blurted. He was not thinking, his shameful desire trumped all logical thought. Mark was so close to him, and his lust for him grew so rapidly it was overwhelming in no time. He was shaking, extremely nervous. And he realised too late that he had misjudged the rapid onset of his shaking; his limbs were no longer taking directions from his mind and he was  already approaching Mark.

 

Even when Mark was startled, he looked inviting. With his jaw dropped, his lips looked plumper. And as he blinked hesitantly, his long eyelashes fluttered in a way that reminded Jinyoung of an alluring, exotic butterfly. He felt an unfathomable urge to touch, to _feel,_ as though one touch between them and all worldly pain in his life would evaporate.

 

“Jinyoung,” whispered Mark. He was rooted to the floor, stunned, and they were now just a foot away from each other. Jinyoung breathed heavily as he took in Mark’s features up close. There was no fear, only ambivalence and nervousness, and Jinyoung could even swear he saw a hint of equal longing – a flicker of want.

 

“Think of what you’re doing,” said Mark, holding his breath as Jinyoung leaned his forehead against his. Their lips were barely an inch from colliding.

 

“I’m tired of thinking,” said Jinyoung. And then it happened.

 

Their first embrace was hurried and fumbled, with a dire want mixed with worries of what was to come. Jinyoung was feeling gutsy, his bravery powered by a desperate thirst for more skin contact. He pressed himself against Mark’s lean body, grunting when their groins touched. _This is it,_ he thought. The newly found pressure against his arousal was unreal, electrifying, irresistible. There was no chance he would stop now. It was like a major heroic chick-flick moment for him: do now, regret later.

 

“J-jinyoung,” Mark groaned, his fingers gripping onto the younger’s shoulders tightly in some form of restraint. “L-let’s not do this. We should stop.”

 

It was a supposition that exceeded the powers of Jinyoung’s imagination. “No, I want this,” he breathed against Mark’s ear, guiding the elder’s hands around his neck. This was not an act of selfishness – or at least he tried to convince himself. They both wanted this. He could see this in Mark’s hazy eyes, and he could feel it from where their crotches touched. “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

 

“I hope you haven’t been drinking, being intoxicated in the hot shower isn’t a good idea,” said Mark. The corners of his lips quivered, verging to burst into a grin.

 

“Is that a yes?”

 

There was no need for a worded reply. Whatever self-control Mark had in him vanished there and then, and he leaned in, capturing Jinyoung’s lips with his own. It was a sloppy kiss, one exchanged on the spur of the moment without much thought. But the heat between them was fiery, burning of the sudden release of desire from both parties; like a drug, one touch and the intoxication was instant.  

 

“Calm down, tiger,” Jinyoung exhaled, barely catching his breath as he pulled away from their kiss. He had fantasised about his first kiss many times, sometimes with his past crushes but most recently always with Mark, and he’d always harboured hopes for a romantic one – tentative, tender, delicate. What he just experienced was nowhere close to what he had envisioned, but it didn’t make him less thrilled.

 

“Don’t ask me to calm down, Jinyoung. You’re the one who started this."

 

“And _you_ are the one who started _this_ ,” Jinyoung rebutted, pouting his lips in reference to their kiss, successfully drawing light laughter from the elder who pulled him in for another lip-lock. This time, it lasted longer, sending butterflies berserk in his stomach. He liked how he melted right into Mark’s arms, and how their lips fit perfectly like puzzle pieces.

 

It didn’t matter that they were in an unseemly hospital bathroom; he could be in a garbage truck and still kiss Mark for hours, but he had _needs_ to be taken care of, and he slipped his free hand down to touch himself. However, his struggle with the towel did not go unnoticed by Mark, who hastily grabbed Jinyoung’s hand to put his actions to a halt.

 

“Remember what I said?” he asked.

 

Jinyoung frowned, his heart skipping a beat. Maybe he read the wrong signs. Maybe he was too eager and forced his fervour on Mark. “That w-we should stop? I’m sorry, I did not realise–”

 

“–no, silly. I said I could help, you know, with _this._ ” Mark gestured at the obvious bulge behind Jinyoung’s towel, and if Jinyoung’s face was not already a permanent tinge of pink, his embarrassment would be glaring.

 

_Oh. Oh my god._

 

Mark locked the bathroom door and pushed Jinyoung against the shower, all in one swift motion. The reserved, cautious man bedevilled, oozing with an unfamiliar audacity that Jinyoung had no idea how to deal with. Truth was he led Mark in; truth also was that Mark was in control and he was an amateur – a virgin. When Mark tugged on the towel, Jinyoung’s legs almost gave away.

 

“W-wait,” he stammered. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

 

Mark paused in his movements and waited. He gazed right into Jinyoung’s eyes, not even questioning his hesitation. Instead, he was taking in the nervous air between them like it was the most precious moment. There was mutual respect, and there was mutual want. Yet the courage that started this all seemed to have withdrawn itself from Jinyoung.

 

But when he returned the elder’s gaze, all doubts cleared. Just a while ago when he was jerking off, he was drooling over racy imageries of Mark’s body that his concupiscent mind had constructed on its own. Now, looking into his warm, brown eyes, he was enlightened of the very reason Mark stirred his heart.

 

At first glance, Mark’s eyes were simply a deep sienna. But those brown orbs seized the depth and weight of a thousand untold stories, which imprisoned both the sweetness of chocolate and the bitterness of strong espresso. When he talked about his hobbies, they glazed with a liquid of pure bliss. When he delved into his past and problems with his family, they darken and get cloaked by a melancholic veil. It was the endless emotions he possessed that touched Jinyoung’s heart, and the mysteries hidden in the deep beds of those big, brown eyes that piqued his interest.

 

Now, his scintillating eyes spoke of his passion, yearning, as well as care and fondness in its warm hue. And it turned Jinyoung on, on so many levels.

 

“Okay,” he finally said.

 

“Okay,” repeated Mark, smiling tenderly as his finger trailed down Jinyoung’s naked torso. He was taking it slow, which Jinyoung greatly appreciated for fear that he might faint if he went down straight away, but his touches were like fire that scalded his skin, making him squirm against his will.

 

Then Mark released the towel, letting it drop to the floor. He bit his lower lip as he marvelled at the sight before him, and Jinyoung could feel his whole body radiating with heat watching Mark scan him down. He was completely whipped, and his brain just could not seem to recognise that this was truly happening to him, until Mark held him in his hands and carnal pleasure shot through his body without warning.

 

“Breathe, precious,” Mark reminded as he leaned his forehead on Jinyoung’s shoulders, his blonde locks brushing against the latter’s skin softly. And Jinyoung complied, letting out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding, then whimpering wantonly as Mark began to move his hands. There was no need for the shady hold-your-breath trick – Mark’s hands were paramount beyond comparison.

 

In their scramble for pleasure, Jinyoung accidentally knocked the tap and started the shower, drenching them both. His state of nakedness ensured no dire effect but it was a different story for Mark, whose clothes became utterly soaked.

 

“You too,” said Jinyoung, peeling at the bottom of Mark’s wet shirt in suggestion of him to take off his clothes too – which he did, a little too quickly for Jinyoung’s unprepared heart. There was no time to admire the elder’s body though, for he dove right in for another deep kiss, pulling away only to pepper more kisses down Jinyoung’s body. Like the small, light feet of mice, and like the flower petals falling that they were. Ruinous and marvellous all at once.

 

They were whispers calling Jinyoung away from his sensibility. He followed with his body. 

 

And then Mark was onto his knees and took him into the warm cave of his mouth, eliciting a loud moan from him amidst his laboured breaths. _Could animals sin?_ Because Jinyoung felt ashamed like an animal now, taken by excessive indulgence. But Mark went on nonetheless, his sweet tongue swirling across Jinyoung's sensitive skin, triggering his nerves into frenzy.

 

He looked ethereal to Jinyoung, his eyes hard with primal need behind his damp hair as his pink lips wrapped tightly around his member. And when he bobbed his head up and down, _good heavens!_ It was perfect all together: the friction, the wetness and the heat, the intense sensuality.

 

Stinging, exhilarating needles of hot water assailed their nakedness. They didn’t talk; they let their bodies do the talking.

 

Not that Jinyoung had the energy to speak anyway, being high on endorphins and too focused on the building pressure in his gut. It was when he spotted Mark’s other hand discreetly pleasuring himself that he lost it. It was the breaking point, knowing that it wasn’t one-sided and they both enjoyed their shared intimacy.

 

He ran his trembling fingers through the glossy blonde hair, squeezing his eyes shut when he felt the approaching of his delayed orgasm.

 

_"floating_

_in the fourth dimension"_

 

His body shook uncontrollably and Mark’s name escaped his mouth in the form of an unrestrained moan. Waves of pleasure attacked him mercilessly, rendering his limbs useless as he collapsed.

 

 _"feeling_      

_the birth of a new solar system_

_amidst convulsive explosions"_

* * *

  

Jinyoung’s first sexual encounter didn’t make him feel more adult. On the contrary, he felt an unexplainable embodiment of a young child – the need to be protected, assured. Hence, he was positively smitten when Mark washed him up in the shower, dried him and tucked him into bed.

 

“Sleep tight,” Mark whispered as he pushed a stray hair away from Jinyoung’s forehead. He pulled the blankets up until only Jinyoung’s face was showing, then beamed at how much the younger reminded him of a dumpling.

 

“Don’t go, stay,” said Jinyoung. He was not ready to be left alone, especially after such close contact with Mark. Even though they were in the same room, he felt as though he would freeze to death without the warmth of Mark’s embrace and he wanted to be right by his side.

 

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” Mark placated. “It’s getting late and you need to rest to recover well.”

 

Jinyoung sat up, kicking his blankets away. He then crossed his arms in childish defiance. “I’m all recovered, Mark.”

 

“Says who?”

 

“Says Jaebum,” Jinyoung huffed, then sighed before giving Mark _the_ news. “I’m getting discharged tomorrow, and Jaebum won’t have me for another day. It’s final. I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m leaving _you_ here alone tomorrow morning.”

 

Mark tried to mask his disappointment by smiling, but it was apparent – and clear as day to Jinyoung – from the way his features seemed to be tugged down against his will. He stood for a moment, as if letting the information sink in, then decided to join Jinyoung in his bed.

 

Slipping under the blankets, he pulled the younger into a firm hug, spooning him from behind. “Congratulations,” he said, breath tickling Jinyoung’s nape.

 

“Congratulations?” Jinyoung turned around to face Mark and gave him a questioning look. “You’re happy that I’m leaving?”

 

“No, of course not! But I expected it for a while now. Your arm wouldn’t stay broken forever, and thank goodness your infection is going away. Besides, we’ll keep in contact. And you can visit me,” said Mark. He rummaged his brain for more advantages to appease Jinyoung with, but shortly realised it was himself he needed to pacify. Definitely, they could call each other and Jinyoung could visit, but it would never be the same as them being together in the same ward.

 

“Okay,” said Jinyoung. “But promise me, you’ll get well soon. I will wait for you, no matter what.”

 

“I promise,” smiled Mark.

 

“I’m warning you, Mark. That can’t be a lie, or I’ll kill you personally.”

 

Chuckles escaped from the blankets. “I thought you wanted me to live? Or did you want me to die all along?” 

 

Jinyoung frowned. “That’s not funny,” he said. It was a joke that was more real to them than others, a fatal blow on their hopeful prayers for a miracle to happen.  

 

“You know I’m joking,” Mark laughed, and then lifted Jinyoung’s chin to look him in the eye seriously, as though he had something important to tell him. “Hey, you know how I told you I’m looking for a suitable bone marrow donor?”

 

“M-hmm.”

 

“The hospital managed to contact my eldest sister. And I think, from what I heard, she might be willing to donate hers to mine if it’s a match.”

 

“Oh my goodness, Mark!” Jinyoung exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear, unable to contain his excitement. He would have leapt off the bed if Mark wasn’t holding him. “That’s great! That’s wonderful! I’m so happy. I’m so happy for you and it’ll all work out, trust me. It will!”

 

“I hope so too,” agreed Mark. His chest was blooming with hope, as well as joy from sharing this hope with Jinyoung. Contented, he caressed Jinyoung’s cheek, grazing the sides of his jaw lovingly. And then he tilted his head slightly to go in for a languid kiss, and Jinyoung melted right into it.

 

It was the kind of kiss that inspired stars to climb into the sky and light up the world.

 

Things were going well, and Jinyoung liked to believe they would continue to become better. Even when he was to leave, Mark would be okay. Soon, they would be reunited outside the hospital, healthy. And _alive._ He snuggled into Mark’s chest, revelling in the comfort of the firm arms around him.

 

“I’ll miss you,” he confessed.

 

Mark’s eyes gleamed with affection upon hearing those words. He pecked the younger’s forehead lightly. “I’ll miss you too,” he said. “Now sleep.”

 

* * *

 

Mark and Jinyoung had not texted since the discharge. To be fair, after they exchanged their goodbyes in the morning, Mark had a full day of check-ups and Jinyoung was too busy trying to catch up at school. But it was alright, because that created a good opportunity for a surprise visit.

 

Jinyoung planned to visit Mark the day after his discharge with the excuse of having forgotten his books at the hospital. Yes, he might have deliberately left them under the bed. And no, nobody needed to know that, especially Jackson, who would hold that as a joke against him even when they laid side by side in their graves, and his mum, who would flip if she found out he had been kissing a terminal patient.

 

So, as soon as the school bell rang, Jinyoung dashed for the door, ignoring the confused shouts for him from Jackson and Youngjae. He proceeded to travel to the hospital, looking like he was being jangled by invisible strings from above, only, his puppeteer was drunk. The only part of him not swaying like a mad puppet was his unmoving smile that could light up any day, no matter how dark. 

 

When he reached the floor of their hospital ward, his hands full of snacks he just could not wait to share with Mark, Nayeon materialised in front of him like a ghost.

 

“Oh gosh, you scared the bejesus out of me!” he shrieked.

 

Nayeon barely showed any response as usual, except lowering her eyelids ever so slighty in suspicion. “And where are you going without opening your eyes? You were discharged yesterday morning,” she said.

 

Jinyoung used his “forgot-his-books” lie, because why not? It should save him time trying to explain his true motive, because explaining to Nayeon that Mark gave him a blowjob in the ward bathroom wasn’t going to be easy, nor appropriate.  

 

“Where are your books?” asked Nayeon. “I can get them for you.”

 

“Oh! No need to trouble you. I can get them myself, and say hi to Mark while I’m in there!”

 

“Mr. Tuan has requested for no visitors to see him today. I’m sorry, but it’s protocol that we respect our patients’ requests. I’ll have to get your books for you. So, where are they?”

 

Jinyoung’s eyebrows creased as his lips tightened. “What do you mean?” he asked. He must have heard wrong. Then, Nayeon sighed audibly, obviously for Jinyoung to hear, before she repeated herself.

 

“ _What do you mean?_ ” Jinyoung reiterated, perplexed, his voice getting louder in his agitation. His mind filled itself with a million questions. _Is Mark okay? Why doesn’t he want visitors? Doesn’t he want to see me?_

 

_What happened exactly?_

But no matter how much he asked, Nayeon was adamant about keeping her mouth shut and Jinyoung was soon forced to leave by the security for “making a nuisance” in the hospital.

As he was thrown out of the hospital doors like an ant being flicked off a sugar bowl, he felt a sinking feeling of despair. He was perturbed and he wanted answers, but nobody was willing to supply him with even the tiniest bit of explanation. He felt like an abandoned child; lost, and very hurt.

 

He would come back every day for the next week, and each time he would receive the same response from the hospital staff. With each day, his resolve was shaken a bit more, and his faith for his relationship with Mark cracked with the latter’s consistent, frigid rejection.

 

As he took the bus home every time, it felt like he was riding backward on a train into a dark tunnel, with no idea where his destination might be – or if there even was one.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry I took so long... am finally done with my final recital for the year but I got busy packing and moving out + adjusting my body clock back to normal (terrible jet lag from a 13 hour flight!) + connecting with my family and friends as it's been a year since I saw them. Thank you for waiting! Also, I'm sorry this chapter is basically 80% plotless smut but I hope you enjoyed the little sexy moment between Mark and Jinyoung ;) Can't write rated things for nuts idk how some writers do it so effortlessly. I almost died.


	4. Fated and Fearless

Jackson, as was his custom when he was particularly disappointed, was frowning.

 

“You’re mad,” he said as he tapped his fingers furiously against the teacher’s desk in their classroom. Youngjae was huddled around Jackson’s side of the table, while Jinyoung was grudgingly planted at the opposite end like a prisoner being interrogated.

 

“I’m not,” said Jinyoung. It wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t angry or offended that Mark had been refusing to see him because deep down, he believed that there had to be a reason. Of the days they had interacted at the hospital, Jinyoung knew that the elder was sensible enough and would not be so cruel to dismiss their rapport without warning.

 

Mark’s only cruelty was in his absence.

 

“I’m not saying you’re mad as in angry. I’m saying you’re mad as in _crazy._ Insane, kooky! You fucking demented fruitcake!”

 

“That’s not very nice, Jackson,” said Youngjae, finally chipping into the conversation after staying silent and seemingly in thought throughout Jinyoung’s verbose rant. “But I agree, you are not _normal._ You know, not like the usual Jinyoung we know.”

 

“Why thank you for your support, I feel _absolutely_ sound and rational after you guys convinced me of my insanity,” Jinyoung said acidly.

 

 _Day 13_ , he scribbled on the desk, lead screeching in distress against the battered oak. Professor Kim, their history and homeroom teacher, would send his imaginary French army to capture Jinyoung if he saw this act of vandalism. Jinyoung would then meet his demise under the blade of the guillotine and have his blood pollute the French rivers ( _bon voyage,_ decapitated head). Not that he was any close to living now that it had been thirteen whole days since he had last seen Mark, hence his disinterest in maintaining his status as a model student.

 

“It’s been thirteen days,” he began, already sounding deflated before he got to his point. “Almost two weeks since I heard from him. I don’t even know if he’s doing okay or” – he choked at the horrifying thought that fleeted through his mind – “I-I’d rather not think about it.”

 

“It’s also been thirteen days since you’ve gone completely bonkers,” Jackson said callously, earning a glare from Youngjae, to which he shrugged nonchalantly.

 

Youngjae reached out for Jinyoung’s shoulder in attempt to comfort him, but the latter was stiff, unresponsive. “Maybe today will be different,” he added hopefully. “When you go the hospital today, maybe he will agree to see you.”

 

“I doubt it,” muttered Jackson.

 

“Jackson!”

 

“What? Haven’t you heard him? It’s the _thirteenth_ day! I don’t think that sounds very lucky,” said Jackson. The two friends were staring each other down, and Jinyoung merely sighed. He simply did not have the energy to deal with his friends’ antics.

 

“You need to be more positive, Mr. Wang. What Jinyoung needs right now is positivity, and hope!” Youngjae nagged, reminding Jinyoung of his late grandmother.

 

“Fine, but he needs to stop moping around and do something. You know, infuse his life with action?” Jackson said before turning to Jinyoung, locking eyes and holding his shoulders in a crushing grip. “Don't wait for it to happen, make it happen! Make your own future, your own hope, your own love!”

 

He finished in a thunderous roar, eyebrows trembling in utmost fervour as if he’d just finished his grand speech for his presidential campaign. There was an awkward silence as the whole classroom gawked at Jackson, and then everyone went back to whatever they were doing just as if they were accustomed to this daily absurdity.

 

“Wow,” said Youngjae. “That’s some motivational speech. You should write fortune cookies.”

 

“Sure, but only if they pay well.” Jackson flipped his imaginary long hair with gusto, receiving only a scoff of disbelief from Youngjae.

 

“Though I hate to agree with Jackson, he’s kinda right this time. Acting like it’s the end of the world will hardly help in this situation. And may I add, if he continues to ignore you, he’s just an absolute asshole and you should stop associating yourself with him.”

 

Jinyoung’s eyes widened at the derogatory term. “Mark is _not_ an asshole,” he sneered.

 

“And Mark is _not_ your boyfriend. He is just a crush. If it doesn’t work out, get over him before it takes a toll on you, Jinyoung.”

 

Now, that was highly offensive. Jinyoung’s usually thin patience was stretched to a limit, but he couldn’t flare up at the innocent, genuinely concerned faces before him. It wasn’t their fault; he had not told them about the events that transpired between him and Mark. To be fair, it all happened – as it ended – so quickly. It was also not their fault that this tragedy had befallen him.

 

To make things worse, Youngjae wasn’t entirely wrong either. Mark never said anything about becoming boyfriends. Actually, Jinyoung couldn’t remember an instance where he expressed his liking for him, at least not explicitly. There were smiles and kind words and touches, but nothing could make clear of their relationship.

 

He’d like to believe he knew Mark well enough. _It wasn’t a one night stand,_ he would assure himself. That wouldn’t be the Mark he knew; the Mark he had grown to love so much.

 

“Mark’s not like that,” he said softly.

 

Youngjae looked at him solemnly, and then at Jackson, who sighed helplessly. “We hope so too.”

 

* * *

 

Despite Jinyoung’s countless rejections, Jackson and Youngjae insisted to tag along to the hospital. While the white-washed walls of the maze-like corridors threw off his friends’ bearings, Jinyoung could navigate his way even with his eyes closed. It was all thanks to the past two weeks of taking the same arduous, gruelling route.

 

“You promised, Jinyoung, that this will be the last time,” reminded Jackson as they shuffled along the hallway. People were rushing everywhere: doctors tending to emergencies, nurses doing their rounds, families pacing urgently; yet they were moving sluggishly, following Jinyoung’s pace that reflected his strong aversion to Jackson’s suggestion.

 

Jinyoung did not reply. If he did, he would have been lying through his teeth.

 

Standing before the ward, when they finally arrived, was not easier because of practice either. Each time Jinyoung prepared to knock on the door, blood pounded nightmarishly at his temples and he would feel sick with self-loathing. Today wasn’t any different; in fact, with the pressure of “last time” imposed on him, all negative feelings were amplified.

 

The door slid open at the first knock, which was unusual and caught all of them off guard. But of course, it was only Nayeon. Her lips morphed into an ugly grimace as her eyes met Jinyoung’s. “You’re here again,” she said.

 

Jinyoung nodded carefully as he bit his lip. His question replayed in his mind continuously: _“how’s Mark today?”_ Yet he was reluctant to say it, because he’d already memorised the answer to that.  

 

“Is he accepting visitors today?” Youngjae asked on behalf instead.  

 

“Mr. Tuan is no longer in this ward,” replied Nayeon. And Jinyoung’s ears perked up. _What?_

As if she could read Jinyoung’s mind, she continued. “He was moved to another ward this morning. And no, I’m not allowed to say anything else. Yes, because of the confidentiality act. I hope I don’t have to explain this again.”

 

Jackson appeared to be torn between choosing to flirt with Nayeon or to fight her into disclosing Mark’s whereabouts. Before either happened and chaos ensued, Jinyoung jumped in to say something.

 

“I understand completely, but is there really nothing you can tell me? Is his health alright? If not, why was he moved? I really need to know. Please, anything will be helpful.” He was almost begging at this point. Honestly, he would already have been on his knees grovelling if not for Youngjae’s comforting hold on his arm.

 

Nayeon’s eyes shifted uncomfortably, but her lips remained sealed, and Jinyoung understood immediately. He did not blame her, for he knew it was against the law if she gave in and she could lose her job in the worst circumstance. His efforts – visiting persistently and even bribing staff with food to deliver his letters to Mark (whether they reached him or not was still a mystery) – proved to be futile.

 

 _“When there is a will, there is a way.”_ Whoever said this had not taken Jinyoung’s situation into account. Perhaps fate held precedence over will and his fate with Mark was meant to end here.

 

Like a miscalculated circling; a sad, partnerless dance.  

 

In his new anguish, he could hardly tune in to the conversations around him. But when another nurse came running for Nayeon, he just could not miss the words exchanged between them, especially with the apparent sense of urgency.

 

“Nayeon, ICU 4 just called in for you. They need extra help with Tuan. Rejection of daunorubicin, seems severe with vomiting and shortness of breath. Yugyeom’s working on the air support but they need someone to check on the IV.”

 

Colour leaked from Jinyoung’s face. Surely, there was only one “Tuan” in this hospital. Nayeon glanced at him apologetically and said, “I didn’t say anything, but you heard it. He didn’t want you to know.”

 

And then Jinyoung felt it, creeping up the side of his calves and into his gut, the onslaught, the grief coming, the tears like a small relentless army approaching the front lines of his eyes. The impetus to see Mark escalated from curiosity and concern to a fierce desperation and fear. He could feel his legs giving in, his body yanking towards the ground like a strong magnet was pulling him. It was as if he had to see Mark breathing, as a whole, right in front of him before he could function properly again.

 

 _Not now,_ he told himself. If he collapsed right there and then, he wouldn’t know what would happen to Mark, who must be in a critical state for him to be put in the intensive care unit and for the nurses to freak out like ants in a boiling pot of water. So full of fear and tension he was – a riptide of blood to swim through – but Jinyoung was determined to overcome them.

 

Anything to see Mark.

 

Unsurprisingly, ICU 4 was out of bounds. There were very limited visiting hours for the intensive care units. More importantly, the last thing Jinyoung wanted was to distract the doctors and nurses from tending to Mark when he needed them the most. As much as he resented the idea, the most he could do now was to wait.

 

Instead of going to the hospital cafeteria with Jackson and Youngjae, where the bright lights made him think only of all the futile efforts that hospitals contained to keep people awake for more bad news – the weak diluted coffee, rock-hard chairs, the elevators that stopped on every floor – he headed to the patch with the tree they used to be able to see from their ward.

 

The tree was still bare without many leaves despite summer’s arrival. Jinyoung took one hand and leant against the ancient oak, his fingertips gripping into the crevices that ran through the bark. He then looked up, watching the clear sky through the lifted branches.

 

Nothing much had changed, except the tree appeared much taller from his current position compared to when he looked down at it from the window of the ward. It was enormous, immensely overpowering, causing him to feel small like a mouse but at the same time enlightening him of its true strength.

 

If only he could just take an ounce of its tenacity and fortitude. Stand strong for himself and for Mark.

 

_A tree that looks at God all day_

_And lifts her leafy arms to pray_

Jinyoung stepped back to experience its force of beauty. Being one with nature calmed him a little from his inner turmoil. It was just something about the fresh air that breathed life into his lungs, the gentle breeze that caressed and comforted his tired skin. Ironically, the dead tree emanated more life than the hundreds of humans in the hospital.

                                                                                                                         

Then, at the corner of his eye, against the sky, he spotted a silhouette. Above him, a bird flew on invisible strings, eventually landing on the tree to what was now certainly a nest. From so far away he could hardly make out which species it belonged to, but from its minute size and the soft, chestnut specks against its white feathers, it was likely a rufous-tailed robin.

 

_A tree that may in summer wear_

_A nest of robins in her hair_

 

For the first time in two weeks, warmth seeped into his heart. The tree was no longer lone, as was Mark. Now that Jinyoung knew about Mark’s situation, he would be there for him. He saw a glimmer of hope from the sunlight filtering through the branches of the bird’s nest; if he could connect this string of hope from his hand to Mark’s, then they would juggernaut, hand in hand, towards their time to come.

 

* * *

 

Almost five hours had passed, and Jinyoung was forced back into the hospital against his will by a very angry Jackson who snapped at him for not having any water or food. _“If you can’t take care of yourself, who’s going to take care of Mark?”_ he had said while pulling Jinyoung by his ear, dragging him along like he was a limp dog on a leash. And now he sat by Jackson’s side at the dismal cafeteria, sipping mindlessly on the bitter coffee grounds floating in the leftover water in his cup.

 

“Youngjae went to ask about _him_ ,” informed Jackson. His eyes averted Jinyoung’s conflicted gaze at the mention of “him”, clearly afraid of any possible outburst from his glum friend. Instead, Jinyoung let out a soulless laugh. It was one without much emotion, only with a hint of disbelieving amusement, that Mark’s name had somehow become a taboo word.

 

“Mhmm,” Jinyoung mumbled his acknowledgement, just seconds before Youngjae walked towards them with a familiar face. “Speak of the devil.”

 

Jackson leapt up from his chair in utmost joy at the sight of Youngjae (Jinyoung’s sullen mood must have tormented him so). “Look who’s here! If it isn’t our sunshine Youngjae and” – he paused as he squinted at the white figure hovering suspiciously at the back – “Jaebum? What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

“Good lord, Jackson! Manners!” chided Youngjae as he pulled a chair out for Jaebum to sit, which Jinyoung thought was highly unnecessary given the doctor had perfectly working arms (or maybe he was jealous because not even Mark did that for him when he had a broken arm).

 

“Fine, Mr. Choi,” Jackson rolled his eyes, then continued loftily. “Dearest Mr. Im Jaebum, may I please know what _fuckery_ brought you here?”

 

Jinyoung sighed. His dear friend apparently dropped out of his mother’s womb with a bump and a scream of vile utterance. He then gave Jaebum a half-hearted greeting, nodding his head at him without bothering to make eye contact, still somewhat upset at him for shooing him away from Mark every time he tried to visit.

 

“Keep rolling your eyes, Wang. Maybe you’ll find a brain back there,” Youngjae plainly insulted. 

 

“Now, now, let’s not start fighting,” interrupted Jinyoung. Usually he would join in the banter and let the jokes take him to a faraway land where worries did not exist, but the uneasiness of losing touch of reality held him back, now that he was so close to making sense of the whole situation. As much as he hated to be a killjoy, he was now the sour, dissonant note that ruined their unique harmony. 

 

His friends were sharp enough to notice his wish, and hurriedly stopped their bickering. For a moment, they listened to the light clinking of cutlery in the background, maintaining a reticence in the light of news to come.

 

It was Youngjae who cleared his throat first. “Jaebum here has something to say.” 

 

It certainly did not look like it, for the person in discussion was staring straight into nothing, seemingly upset with his lips sealed tight. His silence resulted in Youngjae poking at his arm to urge him to speak, an action that did not go unnoticed by both Jinyoung and Jackson as they both caught each other raising a questioning eyebrow.

 

“Jaebum, you promised me that you would tell Jinyoung. You think it’s ridiculous that Mark is keeping this from Jinyoung too, don’t you? You said he ought to know, I heard it crisp and clear,” probed Youngjae. 

 

“You know that I might lose my license if this gets out. You should say it instead,” Jaebum finally spoke. 

 

“Nonsense! Neither Jinyoung or Mark would do that to you, you know that.”

 

At this moment, Jinyoung’s mind could not quite catch up. He was perplexed at several things: the unexplained closeness of Youngjae and Jaebum; the _life_ that Jaebum’s voice exuded (he’d never heard him speak in any tone except well, monotone); and last but not least, the fact that they were talking in circles about him and Mark, in front of him, as if he weren’t there. 

 

“Would you please just tell me what it is about Mark and me that you guys know and I don’t?” said Jinyoung, exasperation through the roof. He was curious to know, but also nervous, because considering how they were pushing the responsibility of revealing the news to each other, it could not be positive. 

 

“Exactly,” Jackson concurred. “Before Jinyoung dies of anxiety right before the eyes of a doctor. I think that’s worse for your career, Jaebum.” 

 

“Fine, but I’m only saying it once, so listen carefully,” said Jaebum. “And prepare your heart.”

 

 _Uh-oh. This can’t be good._ Jinyoung felt a strong sense of foreboding. The usual Jaebum would break any bad news without even blinking; for him to warn Jinyoung to control his emotions only meant that whatever he was about to say was lethally painful. 

 

“G-go ahead.” His voice was quivering, as was his clammy hands under the table. 

 

“Considering Mark’s reluctance in letting you know about his predicament, I assume he cares about you a lot,” began Jaebum. All eyes were on Jinyoung now, awaiting a response. He nodded.

 

“And so I assume you heard about his sister being his stem cell donor?” 

 

Jinyoung nodded again. “How did that go?” he asked.

 

“Not so well, as you would’ve guessed by now,” said Jaebum. He watched the glint of hope that was once in Jinyoung’s dark eyes disappear without a trace. Now facing a black sea of despair, he seemed to regret his decision of sharing this piece of information with Jinyoung, but Youngjae touched him lightly on his knee, encouraging him to continue. 

 

“What do you mean by that? Did the operation not go well?” asked Jinyoung.

 

Taking a deep breath, Jaebum replied, “it never happened. The operation, I mean. His sister never called back. And when we tried to contact her again, the number was no longer in use. She was the last line of contact Mark had with any of his family.”

 

“They abandoned him,” concluded Jinyoung. He could feel the beginnings of a raging volcano bubbling at the pit of his stomach. 

 

“Yes, a pity, but in essence, you’re right. They abandoned him.” 

 

“ _Again_ ,” Jinyoung said tartly. This was uncalled for; it was utterly unfair to Mark, to lead him on with that promise and then cut him off mercilessly. Not once, not twice, but again and again in his life. 

 

“That’s not all,” Jaebum added, to Jinyoung’s horror _._ “The problem with Mark’s condition is that he found out too late. If he’d come to us a month earlier, we could have used TKI therapy to target his chronic myeloid leukaemia (CML). Unfortunately, that’s only efficient for the earlier stages of CML. When he came, he was already at the blast phase and we could only try to kill off the cancer cells using chemotherapy.”

 

“I know that already, but Mark said he was well in progress with the chemotherapy sessions. Why is he in the ICU now then?”

 

Jaebum lifted a finger to push up his glasses. “The thing about CML’s blast phase is that it can escalate really quickly without warning. Chemotherapy sometimes kills the healthy bone marrow cells. That, coupled with Mark’s increased resistance against the chemotherapy drugs after multiple usage, causes the leukaemia cells to grow much more rapidly. It just so happened that the day you left was the day everything went downhill for Mark.”

 

“What? Can you make it simpler to understand?” said Jackson. It wasn’t just Jinyoung who was invested in this conversation, and other than Youngjae who appeared to already be informed, Jackson was also in a state of shock.

 

“If Mark can’t find a stem cell donor,” Jaebum glanced at Jinyoung hesitantly, “then his days are numbered.”

 

Jinyoung’s flesh crawled. His words came out barely as a whisper, as though he had lost all his energy upon the revelation. “How many days?”

 

“It depends. If he hangs on, a month. If a stroke happens, any time…”

 

“ _Any…time?_ Like, p-possibly n-n-now?”

 

The look of affirmation that ghosted across Jaebum’s face said it all. And Jinyoung wanted so badly to scream at him for confirming Mark’s inevitable departure, break down into tears, and then wail so loudly that the heavens would just pick him up and solve all his problems for him. Instead, he crunched his teeth over his lip harder than he ever had, holding it all in.

 

 _This_ was why Mark didn’t want to see him. He didn’t want Jinyoung to see him in his weakest state; he didn’t want to share the pain of suffering, and consequent loss. But Jinyoung was determined to let him know he was wrong. It wasn’t purely a consideration for Mark’s feelings. On a solely selfish position, it hurt him more to not be by Mark’s side. And all he yearned for at that moment was not for a miracle cure, but simply to see Mark, embrace him, and let him know that no matter what would happen, he would be right by his side. 

 

“Jinyoung, listen to me,” began Youngjae.

 

Jinyoung bit his lip even harder as fire attacked his eyes in the form of water. Salty blood filled his mouth and he willed his tears not to fall.

 

“I want you to keep calm, and take your time to take this all in, okay?”

 

If he found himself in this same situation in a different context, he would be guffawing his head off at the ridiculousness of it all: Youngjae speaking like his mum and not a child, Jackson shutting his mouth for once and Jaebum expressing sympathy. But none of that was more unbelievable than what he had just heard about Mark. His friends expecting him to keep calm was like asking him to boil the ocean – impossible.

 

Slowly, his brain picked up his feet in an unbalanced gait, carelessly dropping the lead weights to the ground with each harrowing step. 

 

“Where are you going, Jinyoung?” Someone shouted at his direction – he wasn’t sure who, his mind was too overloaded to perceive. More callings of his name, with rising pitches, increasing volumes, but he continued walking. Reality tried to tap its way into his marching brain's rhythm. Mark was dying. He was helpless. That was all.

 

And then Jackson seized his arm, putting his defiant steps to a halt. “Where are you going?” he repeated the same question that was hurled at Jinyoung for the umpteenth time. Youngjae and Jaebum followed shortly, blocking Jinyoung’s path so that he had nowhere to run.

 

“To do something! There must be something I can do, right? Test my stem cells? What if they’re a match? Then I can save Mark, right? I can save him!” Jinyoung rambled on, taking his volatile emotions on a rollercoaster ride as he skidded through determination, hope, delirium. All in one breath.

 

“It’s no use, Jinyoung,” said Jaebum.

 

“What do you mean ‘it’s no use’? I know, the chances are low, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible,” Jinyoung snarled back, outraged.

 

“You’re right, it’s not impossible, but you–”

 

“–okay,” Youngjae jumped in, motioning for Jaebum to stop. “We’ll take the stem cell test, okay? We all will, all four of us. And then we’ll talk about what to do when the results come out. Fine?”

 

Jinyoung felt like he could finally breathe normally again. At least he was doing something to help. Perhaps they would be blessed by a miracle, and all would be fine in no time at all.

 

“Fine.”

 

* * *

 

 

The waiting game was no fun, yet Jinyoung had no choice but to play it. After an agonisingly long wait to get their stem cells tested, they were told to wait for the results yet again. At this point, Jinyoung was already considering switching majors to medicine to put a leg into this inefficient system. 

 

Jaebum had left for his duties, and Jackson just stormed off a while ago, pounding the cement in his livid boots, looking like he’d been cheated on. 

 

“Why is he so mad?” Jinyoung asked Youngjae, who was unusually silent even for the sombre atmosphere.

 

“Who?” He was obviously out of it, apparently preoccupied in his own abstract concerns.

 

“Who else? Jackson. Why did he leave stomping away like King Kong?” 

 

“Oh,” Youngjae scratched the back of his head, a thin, sheepish smile creeping up his pink face. “I told him I was seeing Jaebum.” 

 

Jinyoung stared at him unblinking. 

 

“Hey, don’t look at me like that. He’s not _that_ old! He’s only five years older. Besides, it’s nothing too serious, _yet._ ”

 

“Yet?” 

 

“What? You don’t approve?” Youngjae frowned, dropping his gaze disappointedly. 

 

“No. I mean, as much as I disagree with your taste, I’d be more pissed if you’re dating around just for fun,” said Jinyoung. The liberty to love someone was much more precious to him than to anyone else at this moment, and such sentiment was so prominent that Youngjae instantly empathised with him. 

 

“I’m sorry, for keeping this from you and for what you’re going through. And for all the insensitive things I said to you about you and Mark. I didn’t know you two were already, you know, at that stage.”

 

Jinyoung’s eyes widened like saucers, not so much because he was surprised Youngjae knew about him and Mark, but mostly because he wasn’t sure what Youngjae meant by _“at that stage”._ As much as he’d like to think of himself as open-minded, he was still not comfortable with exposing his sexual endeavours (not that they were appallingly adventurous in any way but he had always been a private individual). 

 

“I heard from Jaebum,” said Youngjae. “That Mark was completely gushing over you and almost flooded the ward with his tears when he heard of you visiting daily. He said Mark’s request to keep you from knowing his condition was so corny – worse than the soap opera his mum’s currently watching.” 

 

Jinyoung knew it wasn’t exactly a time to fall deeper in love, but his heart fluttered anyway, doing a somersault and a half. 

 

“Well, anyway, I’m really sorry, Jinyoung.” 

 

Jinyoung shook his head. “I guess, I’m sorry too, for not telling you about Mark.”

 

“Good, see, there’s a nugget.” 

 

“A nugget?”

 

“Yeah. Something that’s coming out of all this. You and me. A nugget of truth between us. I’m your best friend, Jinyoung. I’m always here for you and I’m always looking out for your best interests.  You can trust me with your worries. And even though Jackson doesn’t express it very well, you know he cares about you more than anything.” 

 

Good friends do not come falling from the sky for free like rain or snow, Jinyoung knew that. He was incredibly grateful he had the support of his friends, and it was just that split second of realisation that spurred him to pour his deep thoughts out.

 

“I... I really love him,” he confessed, voice soft like the beating of his heart. “But I don’t know what to do.”

 

Youngjae laid his hand lightly on Jinyoung’s shoulder. “I understand,” he said.

 

“He’s been such good company when I was in the hospital. We could talk about anything and everything, he understands me completely and–”

 

“Made you very happy, by the sound of it.”

 

“Yes. Yes, he has.”

 

“Well, that’s something to cling on to and to use as a starting point for your thoughts on this too, isn’t it?” 

 

“What?” Jinyoung glanced upward, his mouth pursed but slightly open and loose.

 

“I mean, that maybe you shouldn’t think of what to do and what your future with him will be like, good or bad. Maybe you should concentrate on the present, the love.” 

 

Then, out of the blue, Jackson barged into their vicinity like a tornado, panting heavily. “It’s a miracle, Jinyoung! It happened! They couldn’t believe it either!”

 

Jinyoung sat up, his face tense. “What?”

 

He wasn’t expecting it, but Jackson pulled him into a bear hug impassionedly. Still out of breath, Jackson heaved, “your stem cells, Jinyoung. They’re a match!”

 

The smile that spread across Jinyoung’s face gave away his thoughts. Perhaps soulmates exist after all.

 

_“that dreams become reality_

_with magic made by two”_

* * *

 

Jinyoung’s mother always said that happiness is like a soda. It's sweet, fizzy, and doesn't last very long. Of course he was too ecstatic to remind himself of this pessimistic aphorism, so when he went into the consultation room to have a talk with Jaebum, who gave him a slap of reality, his mood took a free fall.

 

“No, no way,” Jaebum said firmly, his arms crossed so tightly it would take at least three people to pull them apart.

 

“Why? Why not, when we’re this close to helping Mark? I don’t care about any risks, I’ll take the chances,” he argued heatedly.

 

“You’re diabetic, Jinyoung. And you’re insulin dependent. A bone marrow transplant means an operation, and although it’s not a major operation for the average healthy person, it is for you. Any operation is dangerous to you. You should know that by now.”

 

“I don’t care. I’d happily die for him.” Such passionate words made him seem younger than he was – they sounded almost like the protestations of an unknowing child.

 

Jaebum frowned. “This isn’t just about you. The risks are high for Mark too, especially since you’re an unrelated donor. Even though your stem cells match, the chances of him rejecting your stem cells are still high. At this stage, Mark’s body isn’t strong enough to combat GVHD (graft-versus-host disease). We would usually recommend a peripheral blood stem cell donation, but to lower the risk of GVHD, a bone marrow transplant is our only option.”

 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing. A bone marrow transplant.”

 

Jaebum shut his eyes temporarily, gathering all his patience to deflect Jinyoung’s stubbornness. “Fine, let’s say you’re willing to put your health in danger for Mark. Let’s say it’s a chance both of you are willing to take, even if it means Mark has to fight GVHD. Even if he fights through it all, there’s still a chance that your type one diabetes will be transmitted to him.”

 

Jinyoung’s eyes followed Jaebum with a troubling intensity. It was one hindrance after another, as though God called upon all extant energy to prevent the realisation of his only wish. Like modern-day Romeo and Juliet, but a billion times worse.

 

He’d never thought his life-long condition would stab back at him like that, to think he’d learnt to live with it with peace throughout the years. Just the thought of his own inadequacy made him choke on what was a flood of rising tears.

 

“ _For some people, ‘the point of no return’ begins at the very moment their souls become aware of each other’s’ existence.”_ It was clear now that soulmates exist. And fate is real.

 

Ill fate, that was. Heart-wrenching, cold-blooded fate.

 

“Let me see him,” he croaked. “Please.”

 

* * *

 

It took two days for Mark’s condition to stabilise enough for visitors to be allowed. There were no objections this time, and Jinyoung just assumed that Jaebum had kept Mark updated and the latter understood his intentions. 

 

He had thought he would feel immense joy to see Mark after so long, yet the prospect of them meeting made him more edgy than anything else. On one hand, he was nervous of simply being near him again, a feeling very much like one would feel on a second date. On the other hand, he was torn about what to say to him, because neither discussing the bone marrow transplant nor whining about Mark’s absence seemed appropriate for the occasion. 

 

However, it was proven yet again to Jinyoung that overthinking was useless when it came to Mark. As soon as he laid eyes on the elder, his brain completely shut down and his heart took over, gravitating towards the elder without missing a beat. 

 

What felt like a bloody, pitiful muscle pulsating lifelessly against his rib was now surging with emotion. 

 

Mark never looked more exhausted. His already pale face was drained of whatever little colour was there before, his bloodshot eyes sitting on heavy bags of skin, and most evidently, his blonde hair was sparse as a winter field. 

 

It didn’t make him any less attractive to Jinyoung; he was still beautiful, just in a way that less excited his senses than tore at his very heart.

 

Seconds pass, his brain taking Mark in, struggling to comprehend that the person before him wasn’t one of the fragmented illusions in his dreams, that he was real. How the space between them was erased Jinyoung would never recall, but one moment they were apart and the next, they were morphed into a single being, without any regard of the medical equipment in the way.

 

One of Mark’s hands clasped around Jinyoung’s lower back, and the other stroked his hair. With each soft touch more tears fell, tears neither of them wiped away. After so much delay, they finally had the chance to be together again, and wasting time wasn’t on the agenda.

 

Mark was first to speak. “I’m so sorry, Jinyoung. I’m so, so sorry.” His voice was fragile; whether it was because of his illness or misery Jinyoung could not tell, but he felt the pain all the same.

 

“Don’t be, there’s nothing to be sorry about. I understand, I really do,” said Jinyoung.

 

“I’m sorry,” the elder repeated, seemingly at a loss of words. But even so, they were in the same emotional zone – their heartache poured into one another like water from cup to cup.

 

“Now, stop apologising and stop crying. Or I’m going to be angry!”

 

That coaxed a soft laugh from the depths of Mark’s parched throat. He reached out for Jinyoung’s face, running a thumb across his cheek. “Alright, princess. I won’t.”

 

“I’m so glad to see you again.”

 

“Me too.”

 

“I missed you.”

 

“Me too, Jinyoung. I missed you too.”

 

Their words contained the weight of past time, the time they had missed each other’s presence. Jinyoung frowned slightly, his lips puckering into a cute pout, which Mark took full advantage of. When he kissed Jinyoung it was sweet, gentle, and it tasted of their tears.   

 

“I’m not angry but, would you just tell me something?” Jinyoung asked when they pulled apart. “Why did you not tell me? You know, about your worsening condition and…” he paused, apprehensive to mention any details of Mark’s misfortune.

 

“My sister?”

 

Jinyoung nodded carefully, then cuddled straight into Mark’s arms.

 

“Well,” the elder began. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. You said you would wait for me no matter what, remember? I loved that, but that was when I knew there was hope for me. But when death seemed nearer I hated the idea of you waiting, Jinyoung. I didn’t want you to wait for me, a _hopeless_ case. I didn’t want to have you and then leave you alone suddenly. It would break your heart, and that’s the last thing I want to do.”

 

The sombreness that this evoked brought them to rather more quiet places in their minds.

 

“But there _is_ hope,” Jinyoung whispered into Mark’s chest. “You know that. I know Jaebum told you. There’s no way he wouldn’t.”

 

That triggered Mark to sit up, pulling Jinyoung up with him to look him right at his eye. “About that, Jinyoung, I don’t want–”

 

“–me to go for the operation?” Jinyoung completed the sentence. He saw this coming, a thousand – no, million times, in all the different conceptions he had of this day they’d meet again. “Because I have diabetes. I know, I’m sorry. I can’t be any more useless, can I?”

 

Mark’s furrowed eyebrows indicated his confusion, until he realised what Jinyoung was talking about. “No, silly! I don’t care if I contract diabetes, sweetheart. No offense, but, I’m pretty sure having diabetes for the rest of my life is better than _dying_ of leukaemia. I’m just worried about _you_.”

 

“What’s there to worry about when you’re the one suffering so much more?” Jinyoung countered, a bitter taste spreading in his mouth as he took in the physical signs of Mark’s distress again. Mark looked so worn and sapped that his heart hurt tremendously.

 

“Weren’t you listening when I said I didn’t want you to get hurt? I mean it, not just emotionally but of course, without a doubt, physically too. I will never forgive myself if you get hurt because of me.”

 

“But I don’t care if I get hurt, if there’s a chance of saving you.”

 

“You might _die_ , Jinyoung,” snapped Mark. And as if he regretted his outburst immediately, he sighed. Jinyoung stared at Mark. He could see it in his eyes. The anger was nothing but a shield for his pain, like a cornered soldier randomly throwing out grenades, scared for his life. Lonely, desperate.

 

“And you too,” said Jinyoung. He reached out for Mark’s pale face, cupping his sunken cheeks. “You might go too, Mark. And then the chances of my actually being with you would be zero. So even if I were to die, the resulting loss would also be zero.”

 

“Jinyoung...”

 

“At the end of the day, it’s all down to strength of feeling and risk. If I love you, I’ll take a risk for you and if I don’t, I won’t. And I _love_ you, Mark.”

 

 _Ah,_ the magical three words. Never in Jinyoung’s sweetest reveries were these words proclaimed with such excruciating pain. And neither did he imagine himself to be so calm when he would confess, yet he was sitting still, radiating a sense of tranquillity. Because at that moment his feelings for Mark became so dizzyingly clear, he could say those three words without hesitation, despite how much it wounded him.

 

Mark’s jaw dropped, startled at the sudden confession. “Jinyoung, I…”

 

“Do you love me?” Jinyoung asked bravely. It was the adrenaline speaking; he could feel it in his fingers.

 

“I do. I love you too,” Mark said gently.

 

“Then, you would do the same.”

 

 _Fate loves the fearless._ They were both, fated and fearless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the little details like the symbolism of birds making a home in that tree to the crazy journey through Jinyoung’s quick-changing emotions upon knowing of Mark’s situation, I took so much time trying to make sense of everything, which is why this took so long. (Also because I had a gig, but mostly because writer’s block got in the way…) I really hope you guys could relate to the ups and downs of this chapter and feel these emotions through Jinyoung’s perspective in this AU (also surprise 2jae!). For those who are still here, thank you so much for waiting and for your everlasting support. I also apologise once again for any wrong information regarding the medical technicalities. There’s a reason why I’m studying music and not medicine. 
> 
> This fic will be completed with another chapter + epilogue. Updates soon! xx


	5. Dandelion Hair

“Do you love me?”

 

“Yes…”

 

“Then you wouldn’t do it.” 

 

Jinyoung sighed for the umpteenth time. His sigh was resigned and weary, signalling the limit of his patience and the passive decay of his efforts. He’d been trying to convince his mother to consent to the bone marrow transplant, yet it seemed like there was no way to talk her into agreeing. 

 

“But mum, don’t you want me to be happy? I’ve thought hard about this, and I’d really like you to support my decision,” Jinyoung beseeched. To him this was the most pressing issue, but to his mother it was just a foolish tantrum to be ignored. He felt very uncomfortable about his conspicuous frenzy, especially when his mother was unaffected and just going about her daily chores in the kitchen, very much like one of those beetles that groped about the hearth in a ponderous, elderly way. 

 

She was obviously not taking him seriously. It wasn’t unexpected, but Jinyoung was still disappointed. He’d thought, at the legal age of eighteen, his mother would have more faith in him. Her lack of trust in his decisions persuaded him that she still saw him as the feeble, disease-ridden child that afflicted on her more stress than brought her joy. 

 

“Mum!” 

 

Jinyoung’s mother finally looked up, her glower indicating her discontent with his raised voice. “Darling,” she began, with less affection than the endearing term suggested. “I’m your mother. I know what’s best for you. Mark’s a great guy, I have no doubt, but how long have you known him? Think about it, is he really worth your sacrifice?” 

 

“He is,” muttered Jinyoung. “He is worth everything.” 

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, darling. I know from experience, that friends you meet in such circumstances will not stay with you through your life. He’s just a _passer-by_ in your life, Jinyoung, and you don’t owe him anything.”

 

That was the last straw. His suppressed anger flared up and escaped his quivering body in a loud bark, that even he himself was surprised by. “What do you know? Mark is _not_ a passer-by! He is  _everything_ to me!”

 

His mother’s fluid chopping motions suspended. There was a short pause. Then she put down the knife in her hand, and tugged down her apron, ignoring the half-chopped tomatoes rolling off the countertop and falling splat onto the floor – portent of a bloody crime scene to come. Jinyoung knew it was not exactly ideal timing, but the circumstances called for his confession. Only the truth could have any impact – positive or negative – on his mother’s decisions. 

 

“I’m gay, mum.”

 

 _There,_ he said it. He just came out to his mother, one of the most important people in his life. He dared not look up, but in his peripheral vision he caught a flinch in his mother’s movements. It was a big declaration he had to make, one that he had prepared himself mentally for the past ten years, yet now the silence laid like poison on his skin. 

 

“Mum? I said I’m gay,” he repeated slowly, doing all he could to keep his emotions at bay. His heart was flashing; heart to stone, heart to stone. 

 

His mother cleared her throat. “And you like Mark,” she concluded. These words existed in a happy place just moments ago, and now they were spat out from his mother’s mouth like they were a noxious bomb. 

 

“I _love_ him,” Jinyoung corrected. 

 

“No. No, you will not go for the operation,” said his mother. Her voice chilled Jinyoung to the bone. He would love for his mother to hug him and thank him for telling her, comfort him, and tell him everything would be alright. It would be better even if she had expressed shock or indignation to his revelation. Her frigid remark, however, was Jinyoung’s biggest nightmare turned into reality. 

 

He could hear it in her voice. It was no longer mere worry for his wellbeing, nor hesitation because of monetary concerns, but both with an added distaste to her new discovery. She did not accept his sexuality. 

 

Through the many books he had read about others’ coming-out experiences, he knew he needed to give her time. However, time was not on his side. Technically, having just reached the legal age for medical consent, he did not need parental consent for the operation, but he still regarded his mother’s approval with high importance. She was the woman who nurtured him, showered him with love despite the burden of an illness he brought with him, who cared about him more than anyone else in the world. The fact that her presence was so paramount in Jinyoung’s life was the reason why it hurt even more when she’d not received his confession with open arms. 

 

_Alice: “Where should I go?”_

_Cheshire Cat: “That depends on where you want to end up.”_

 

His family or his lover? A lifetime of kinship versus possibly ephemeral love.

 

Jinyoung lifted his heavy legs. One step, two steps. He walked away from his mother, to where his heart took him. 

 

_Jinyoung: “I want to end up in a beautiful place, even if it’s transient like the butterfly, perishable like the rose. Because as fleeting as I am as the wind, in that beautiful place, my dandelion waits for me.”_

 

* * *

 

Perhaps it was really the power of love that fuelled Mark with energy he hadn’t had for a long time. Even the nurses were confounded by how well he was coping, despite no significant progress with his recovery. Jinyoung was relieved that at least, Mark was stable now. The operation was set for the next day, an arrangement he felt strangely of, because of his conflicting emotions and concerns. 

 

Jaebum was a tough peanut, obstinate as a bull and tone deaf to Jinyoung’s ideas. When Jinyoung had let him know of their joint decision to go ahead with the bone marrow transplant, his neck turned red with frustration. He tried to convince Jinyoung otherwise, of course to no avail, and eventually had to give in because Youngjae was on Jinyoung’s side. 

 

The first thing Jinyoung felt was relief, that his plans were finally put in place. And then the worry set in. With all the unappealing potential outcomes of the operation, _happy ever after_ stood a low chance. He kept falling from hopeful to afraid, and then he would suddenly feel positive vibes before his nagging worries returned to haunt him – like an extreme rollercoaster riding through large green waves of nausea. 

 

“Are you okay? I feel like you need the doctor more than I do,” said Mark, his voice laced with concern. He reached out for Jinyoung’s forehead, checking for a fever.

 

“I’m fine,” assured Jinyoung, pushing the elder’s hand away gently. “I’m just nervous.”

 

“For tomorrow?”

 

Jinyoung’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Yes, what else? Because of you? I’ve gone past that stage, mister.” 

 

Mark laughed. “I don’t flutter your heart anymore? Does my thinning hair not attract you so?” 

 

“Oh, you have no idea. I would fall head over heels for you even if you’re a balding grandpa.” 

 

Such tantalising banter was usually desirable, but Jinyoung’s worries were too prominent to be ignored. He said nothing about them, but they still stuck out like a sore thumb. It was Mark who decided to bring the serious talk to the table. He held Jinyoung’s hand across the space between the bed and where the younger was sitting – a space as wide as the canyon to them.

 

“Tell me,” said Mark.

                                                                                    

“Tell you what?”

 

“How the talk with your mother went? I haven’t known you for very long, Jinyoung, but I _know_ you. I can read you like a book, but I want you to be the one telling me of anything that’s worrying you.” 

 

“Why ask? When you already know?” 

 

“I don’t want to be assuming anything from my perspective,” said Mark. His eyes, shining with sincerity, were pulling Jinyoung in. 

 

Jinyoung got up to sit by Mark’s side, effectively closing the distance between them. He felt better already. It was at times like this when he wondered just what good deeds he had done in his past life to deserve a man as perfect as Mark. Even in rough times he was considerate of the most negligible things, and words could not describe how much Jinyoung appreciated that.

 

Hence, weak before the love of his life, Jinyoung conceded. “My mum said no, which I’m not too surprised by, just disappointed,” he began. “And, um, I came out to her.”

 

Mark didn’t bat an eyelid. He nodded solemnly, presumably having went through the same thing. Jinyoung continued, “and she didn’t take it very well. I think… I think she’s disappointed. I think she’s against my sexuality.”

 

“Well, give her some time. It was probably the shock. Whatever she said to you, she probably didn’t mean it. Your mother loves you more than anything, I can tell.”

 

Jinyoung hummed, unconvinced.

 

“She’ll come around. Maybe tomorrow, maybe a week later. Maybe, hopefully not, years. But she’ll come around,” assured Mark. He tugged at Jinyoung’s sleeve, beckoning him to join him under the comfort of the blanket. When they were both snuggled beneath the warm comforter, he eagerly wrapped his arms around Jinyoung’s waist, burying his head in his chest. “Do you feel better now that you’ve said it out loud?” he asked.

 

“Yes, better,” Jinyoung returned the hug. He would never let someone so close to himself as now, but Mark was different. Mark was his only remedy to all his pain; his hugs healed him with their warmth and protection, sharing heat as easily as he shared his heart. What was ironic was that Mark was in more pain than anyone else. “I wished it was different, that’s all.”

 

“We all do. They say the grass is greener on the other side, but sometimes it’s simply because we’re not looking close enough at our surroundings.”

 

A small smile played on Jinyoung’s lips. “Someone’s been reading, I see,” he teased.

 

Mark looked up and grinned back before planting a huge kiss on Jinyoung’s chin. “Only for _you._ And hey! Look closely at your surroundings, will you? For starters, you have _me._ ”

 

“That’s a huge plus,” Jinyoung chuckled. “And there are these flowers and cards you haven’t spared a second to look at,” he added, referring to the gifts his friends had brought over to show their well regards for Mark. It was peculiar how the elder hadn’t touched the get-well-soon cards; if it were Jinyoung he would be more than keen to read them.

 

But Mark kept gazing at Jinyoung. “I can look at them any time,” he said. “Now I just want to look at your face.”

 

“ _Flipping blueberry pancakes_.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

Jinyoung gulped, feeling cold sweat break out at the back of his neck. He’d thought he was at least partially immune to Mark’s daring advances by now, but how he just swore (he wasn’t proud of his vanilla adaptations of profanities when he had to say them out loud) indicated he was far from immune, and rather smitten, _whipped,_ like the cream on his _blueberry pancakes_.

 

Funny, because he was the one who initiated what happened in the bathroom; he was also the one who confessed first. Apparently, he could only take the lead when horny or in extreme desperation.

 

“Was that you swearing?” asked Mark. At the corner of his lips was a crease of amusement, one that confused Jinyoung of his response – to show irritation or to succumb to the temptation of those moist, rosy lips.

 

He went for the latter, dipping down for a short smooch. The way Mark stiffened up was telling of his shock. He was not expecting the kiss, but that didn’t mean he did not welcome it. Once he made sense of the situation, he pressed his lips harder against Jinyoung’s.

 

When they pulled away, Jinyoung was breathing heavily, as if that kiss had knocked the wind out of his lungs. Feeling the heat creep up his face, he bit his lip shyly. He stole a peek at Mark, who was smiling, and his worries whisked away like a bunch of fruit-flies caught in a heavy gust of wind.

 

“I was about to call you cute,” said Mark. “But then you surprised me, and I’m not sure what to think of that. I feel like I’ve seen this side of you one too many times, Jinyoung.”

 

Embarrassment glowed from Jinyoung’s red face as he was once again reminded of the epic bathroom saga.

 

“I’m not saying I hate it though,” Mark added.

 

What happened next was a blur, the sequence of events jumbled up like a bubble of detached molecules, but still exploding with colours of the rainbow. All Jinyoung could remember was that there was a lot of kissing and _touching_ involved; the latter of which was not pure or casual in any way. Even the lightest touch from Mark seared his skin like molten lava, and this volcano had erupted monumentally, spreading its hot magma all over his body, assaulting his nerves like raining, scorching ashes.  

 

When a warm hand slipped into Jinyoung’s pants, he almost jumped. “Wait! What are you – _we_ – doing?” he stammered.

 

Mark seemed unfazed, showing no intention of stopping whatever he was doing. He looked up at Jinyoung, who emitted a tiny gasp when he noted the familiar glazing over in his eyes. And in seconds Jinyoung was flipped over, Mark hovering over him with just an elbow’s length apart, breathing down on him fiercely. It would be an eternal mystery how such ferocity still emanated a sense of grace; it was possible only with Mark, and Jinyoung instantly turned into a willing victim in his web.

 

“Jinyoung, I want you.” It wasn’t a request, it was a declaration. One that made Jinyoung aware of the electricity between them. It was like a crackling in the air. Perhaps this was what it was like when people say they feel fireworks going off.

 

“W-wait, aren’t you tired after your chemotherapy session?” Jinyoung managed to stutter between his short breaths. The heat in his face had made its way to his groin, and Eros’ enticement was becoming hard to resist. Still, he couldn’t help but be concerned for Mark’s wellbeing.

 

“Nonsense, you give me energy.”

 

“N-no,” Jinyoung had to fight the peppering kisses down his neck to deny. “You need rest, Mark. The operation is tomorrow.”

 

“I’ll get plenty of rest then, don’t worry.” Mark’s adamance was tenacious. That, coupled with his lethal touches, almost rendered Jinyoung helpless. If it wasn’t for the lurking anxiety of Mark’s condition worsening, he would have joined him on this joyride. Instead, he gathered the last of his self-control to push Mark away.

 

The disappointment written on Mark’s face was clear. “I… I don’t think we should do this now,” Jinyoung hesitated. “I mean, isn’t this dangerous for you?”

 

Mark shrugged. “Jaebum said it’s good for my mental health to engage in sexual activity.”

 

“Why would you listen to him? H-he’s… _strange!_ ” Jinyoung hurried on with a hot blush.

 

There was a sigh. Then Mark pinned Jinyoung down again, with that serious look that still had his trademark warm, brown eyes. “Let’s not think so much for today, Jinyoung. Of all the men I’ve met in my life, no one has made me feel this way. Nobody, except you. I’ve never yearned to be so close to anyone until I met you.”

 

Jinyoung was finally listening, taking in the words like he was inhaling sweet air.

 

“I don’t know exactly how you feel but for me, looking at you every day is blissful torture. Blissful because, _gosh_ , have you seen yourself? But at the same time, it’s so torturous. You have no idea, Jinyoung, how much effort it takes me to hold myself back every time I see you.”

 

“ _Flipping blueberry pancakes_ ,” Jinyoung muttered under his breath. _Fuck,_ he meant.

 

Mark chuckled softly before giving Jinyoung a quick peck. “I assume that’s code for _‘kiss me’_ now,” he quipped, before leaning in again for an open-mouthed kiss.

 

 _Oh,_ _sure._ That could be code for anything as long as Mark wanted it to be so.

 

“Please,” Mark mumbled between his kisses. “I’m just afraid I wouldn’t be able to see you again, after tomorrow.”

 

Before, Jinyoung was floating somewhere on cloud nine, and then those words were spoken and crashed down on him like a poisonous weight. He wavered momentarily, but again gave in to his lover’s touch, relishing them with a newfound bitterness.

 

From sweet to bittersweet.

 

So many things could happen. The operation could be successful and they could both recover. Or they both would not recover. Or they both would not come out alive.

 

Or worse, only one of them survives this.

 

If only they were main characters to a typical romance novel, no calamity would stop them from living happily ever after. Often, reality was the opposite. Yet for Jinyoung’s case, reality had not extinguished the flames in his heart.

 

“I love you,” he professed, just as Mark’s hand travelled to his bare back.

 

“And what’s that code for?”

 

“Take me,” Jinyoung said. _Take me higher, away from our pain and sorrow, to somewhere we can be together._

“I love you more.”

 

Mark meant _okay._

 

Because it wasn’t their first time didn’t mean Jinyoung was less self-conscious. In their past rendezvous their heads were clouded by lust, and the steam and water acted like a cloak for all their insecurities. This time, with the lights blindingly bright and their clothes strewn on the floor, Jinyoung felt very much like a specimen under the microscope, his flaws magnified into transparency.

 

Mark’s hand touched his chest and began to fall in excruciating slow designs. He was painting circles over his skin, touching fire in his veins. Jinyoung laid still, trying to only focus on regulating his breathing, but when Mark lingered at his abdomen, he flinched.

  
“Don’t l-look,” he quavered.

 

Mark’s fingers continued to dance on his skin. “Why?”

 

“They’re ugly,” said Jinyoung, referring to the scars from his insulin shots. Four darkened spots, a grisly mix of purple and brown, nasty indents on his otherwise flat torso. More than the look of them, he detested how they were a reminder to his weakness.

 

To his surprise, there was no sign of revulsion from Mark. Instead, the elder littered tender kisses over them. One, two, three, four. “They’re not. Every part of you is beautiful,” hummed Mark. He then paused, self-absorbed in his own musings. “Maybe, except your hair.”

 

“Why?” Jinyoung was very proud of his hair.

 

“Because I’m jealous,” Mark said as he encased Jinyoung’s member in his warm hands, stroking slowly. “Jealous of your luxurious hair, silly.”

 

“Your hair is” – Jinyoung moaned brazenly as pleasure shot through his body – "stunning. I like it.” He shimmied back a bit to sit up halfway, so that he could look at Mark better. Mark didn’t reply; the adoration dripped from his eyes without words.

 

Mark’s hand worked mechanically on Jinyoung until he was hard with want. He thought of returning the favour, but was pleasantly surprised to learn that his pleasure had a direct effect on Mark. They were both ready, needy for more. When Mark pushed his legs apart was when he suddenly felt exposed.

 

“Wait,” he said, despite them both having no intentions to. “The door?”

 

“You worry about this now?” Mark was trying not to laugh out loud, but it was hard not to notice the amusement frolicking behind his eyes.

 

“Why? It’s a legit concern. Someone might walk in. Nayeon might flip out and Jaebum might see us…”

 

The laughter escaped, rumbling lightly from Mark’s chest. “ _Baby,_ focus on me. Nobody’s coming in, not when I deliberately asked for private time alone, with you. I’m going to prepare you now, alright?”

 

The unanticipated term of endearment was enough to catch Jinyoung off guard and make him comply to any request. Like a sure method of seduction, only effective when applied by Mark. It was only when he felt a finger brush across his rear that he snapped back into focus, squirming at the foreign sensation.

 

“Relax,” Mark panted, as though he said that to remind himself to calm down as well. He rubbed the sensitive skin of Jinyoung’s inner thighs to coax him, taking his time before pressing a finger slowly into the snug heat.

 

Jinyoung groaned at the intrusion. It was the strangest feeling; painful, but mostly awkward like it shouldn’t be there, like it was a violation of his body. Yet the feeling of wrongness was what incited defiance, the urge to break more rules and see where it would take him.

 

That curiosity braved him through the uncomfortable ache, while he was also comforted by the words of encouragement from Mark. One finger became two, and then three. He tried to move, but it felt as if his body was tied down by invisible threads only controllable by Mark. That was until the fingers left his body, and he was writhing like an invertebrate, aching for more from the absence of the feeling of fullness.

 

And then a new heat replaced the empty cold, and Jinyoung’s breath hitched. It was whole, and very tight. Wordlessly, they pulled into each other in synchronism, meeting like wave to shore.

There was a sharp, brief pain.

 

Brief.

 

And then a sweet spasm went through him, and he seemed to rise into the air.

 

Their breaths were erratic but still matching. His toes curling.

 

He was nothing but his body.

 

No more pain, just the sweetness.

 

The incredible…

 

_Oh, the_

He drew a spent arm over Mark’s nape and dragged him down towards him, smashing their ajar lips together. After tomorrow, he might not be able to taste the intoxicating concoction of coffee and mint in Mark’s mouth. It pained him to imagine how empty he would feel, especially after he had experienced such totality of their bodies merged together. Filled so wholly, saturated, with love.

 

The waves were crashing harder towards Jinyoung’s paradise. Stronger, faster; lapping up all the sorrow and dispelling them back into the depths of the ocean. One day they might rise to the shores again, but not today.

 

Soon the waves go wild, out of control. And then they broke the current, whirling and tossing in every direction like how their bodies convulsed against each other. It was a party on the beach, water waltzing with sand along the frothy torrents.

 

They both cried, in ecstasy and maybe latent despair, rutting against each other in a sort of reluctant desperation – against the thought of this being their last.

 

But eventually, the tide died away, like everything else: temporary. Leaving only the briny remains seeped into the sand.

 

Coming down from his high, Jinyoung panted while he searched for eye contact with Mark. Mark’s eyes were speaking again. They cheered of gratitude and love, hiding that tiny bit of wistful melancholy. But there was no fear. His feelings were far stronger than fear.

 

Jinyoung broke into a smile.

_“in a world_

_full of_

_temporary things_

_you are_

_a perpetual_

_feeling.”_

* * *

 

It took Jinyoung a while, as he started to stir from his post-coital stupor, to realise that what just happened wasn’t just a dream. Mark really did make love to him, and he really was no longer a virgin. Unfortunately, also, the clock ticking towards the time of the operation was also real.

 

Two more hours. That was all the guaranteed time he had with Mark.

 

“Are you feeling alright?” Jinyoung asked Mark, who just returned to the bed after cleaning up for both of them, hopping on enthusiastically before engulfing the younger fully in his arms. There was no getting tired of touching skins and sharing heat.

 

“I’m feeling great, if _that_ _’s_ what you mean,” crooned Mark. Jinyoung was already in a constant pink flush from before, and he didn’t know he could get any redder, but he did – his face feeling like a hot oven as his blush burnt through his cheeks.

 

“Well, that’s not what I mean.”

 

“I’m fine,” assured Mark. “I’ve never been in a better condition in this week. I told you, you make everything better.”

 

He wasn’t lying. Compared to when Jinyoung first saw him in the ICU, his voice was stronger and steadier, and his eyes brighter with more energy. Even his skin was glowing a little, the fluorescent light reflecting off his high forehead, making his skin seem almost translucent.

 

Jinyoung prided himself to be a mysterious individual. He’d like to describe himself as an archaic book of secrets, that even when chanced upon did not guarantee an understanding of the contents. Yet Mark appeared to have learnt this book thoroughly, always being able to read his mind. “Tomorrow will go well,” he said.

 

“You think?”

 

“No, not think. I _know_ it’s going to go well. We’re in good hands. Ol’ Jaebum may get on your nerves but he’s serious and one of the most reliable when it comes to his work. I trust him and his medical team.”

 

Jinyoung furrowed his eyebrows. It wasn’t about the trustworthiness of their medical team. That was perhaps the least unpredictable factor; it was their physical bodies that were vulnerable. If the heavens decided their time on Earth was due, he was afraid they wouldn’t be able to resist Grim’s siren song.

 

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just feel like the odds are against us.”

 

“Stop worrying,” Mark smiled, bringing forward his thumb to rub off the anxious creases between Jinyoung’s dark eyebrows. “I trust you. When I wake up, I know you’ll be by my side. You’re stronger than you think.”

 

“You flatter me.”

 

“If you say so. I just am trying to impose some pressure on you, so you don’t go galloping away to some other hot dude while I’m in the hospital bed,” joked Mark.

 

“I doubt I’ll be going anywhere. I mean, I might not wake up.”

 

“You will.” There was a forcible insistence in those words.

 

“Say I will. Then what if _you_ don’t wake up?”

 

Mark said nothing for a while. The silence between them that used to soothe Jinyoung was now gnawing at his insides, for in that void of sound their forlornness was laid bare. Then their eyes met, and there was an exchange of heavy-hearted understanding.

 

“Then gallop away,” Mark finally said.

 

“I’m not a horse,” Jinyoung muttered bitterly. Of course he wasn’t so petty to hang onto an analogical reference; it was just an excuse to express his discontent.

 

“Jinyoung…”

 

“This makes no sense to me whatsoever. You’re telling me to _leave_ you.”

 

Mark sighed. “No, I’d never say that to you. I’m just talking about the worst-case scenario. There’s no denying the risks of this operation, and that they are higher for me than for you. I’m saying, _if_ anything bad happens, I don’t want you to hang on to me.”

 

“I refuse,” stated Jinyoung. There were so many arguments brimming at his mouth, fighting to come out. If he wasn’t pressing his lips together to suppress his tears, he would have so much more to say.

 

“If you were me, you’d want the same, wouldn’t you? If you were to…” Mark trailed off, looking away. It was clearly as difficult, if not more, for him to discuss this. “If you couldn’t wake up, you wouldn’t want me to wait for you either.”

 

That was true.

 

“Some people believe holding on and hanging in there are signs of great strength. However, there are times when it takes much more strength to know when to let go and then do it,” Mark recited.

 

And Jinyoung finally managed to look up with his watery eyes. “You _really_ have been reading,” he said. 

 

Mark flashed him one of his heartening, warm smiles. “Ann Landers,” he said, looking very proud of himself. “I started reading when we were physically separated for a while that time. If there was a way I could be attached to you somehow, even if it’s just spiritually, I had to do it. And if there’s just one thing I learnt from reading works from your favourite authors, it’s that you are truly a _strong_ person with an unbreakable mentality.” 

 

Jinyoung’s heart swelled with gratitude. Nobody had ever said that to him. In fact, most people tend to think he was childish, immature, _whiny_ (which wasn’t entirely false but it was the first time someone had recognised his efforts to be the best person for himself and for others). Furthermore, for Mark, video-gaming enthusiast and president of Movies-over-Books Club, to develop a habit of reading, it was just incredibly touching. Just, _wow_. 

 

Mark spoke again, this time quietly, in a more cautious tone. “Remember when I said the last thing I want was for you to get hurt? If I don’t make it and you don’t move on, I will dread it. You’ll be hurting, and crying, and I hate seeing you cry.”

 

“Okay, I won’t cry,” Jinyoung croaked unconvincingly, blinking back his tears. A blunder well worth, for Mark was smiling a little again. 

 

“I hope you understand, Jinyoung.”

 

“I want to think we don’t have to worry about this, Mark. But I think we both know better than anyone that there’s that inevitable possibility,” Jinyoung confided as Mark’s arms encircled his waist and his head lolled over his shoulder. He snuggled closer towards the elder, reaching his hand out to play with the brittle ends of his bleached hair. “Say we end up facing this, I wouldn’t want to give you up so quickly, you know. Would you still give _us_ more time, a chance?”

 

Mark appeared to be deep in thought. He was silent, barely breathing, radiating such a dizzying sense of calm that Jinyoung could almost feel the anguish lift palpably from his heart. “One year,” he said. “Promise me, after one year, you’ll let go.”

 

Many things could happen in a year, but Jinyoung was confident he could endure the adversities of it all, so long as he had Mark by his side.

 

“I promise,” he said.

 

That was when Jaebum knocked on the door and entered. Both Mark and Jinyoung scrambled to their feet, and were half-expecting a look of distaste from him at their cuddling, yet there was instead a compassionate smile. “We’re ready for you,” he said.

 

Like words announcing their imminent downfall, Jaebum’s voice rang in the silence of the room. Jinyoung found himself searching for Mark as though he was his only solace, and to his relief – as much as it was short-lived – Mark was looking right back at him. Then Mark approached him slowly, taking precious time to coax him into a full embrace, encompassing him with his warmth for the last time.

 

“Are you afraid?” he whispered in Jinyoung’s ear as they clung onto each other, unwilling to let go.

 

Jinyoung recounted the words Mark had bestowed him with, which had now become his greatest asset.

 

 _You are strong_. _I believe in you._ Mark had said. 

 

“I’m not afraid,” he declared. “Not when I’m with you.” 

 

With that, Mark seemed satisfied. He cupped Jinyoung’s cheeks lovingly and kissed him. And Jinyoung held on to him.

 

As if on the other side of his kiss, there could be a new life. 

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, faint scraps of Jinyoung’s dreams would get caught on the wall of his consciousness, but he wouldn’t be able to retrace these fragments back to any coherent narrative. He slept deeply, and the dreams he had came from a very deep place. Like fish that lived at the bottom of the ocean, most of his dreams were not able to float to the surface. Even if they did, the water pressure would have distorted their appearances.

 

It felt like he had been drifting in dreamland for a long time, revelling in oblivion. If he had counted his dreams, there would be thousands, many he had forgotten completely. Yet the ones where Mark appeared in were clear as though they were real; Jinyoung could almost see the fluttering of his eyelashes as he blinked, and feel the smooth texture of his skin. In his dreams they were happy, healthy, and together.

 

Floating in the nirvana between his subconscience and reality was easy, so blissful and free of worries that it imposed on him a heavy inertia. He didn’t want to wake up, and wouldn’t have, if not for the vivid dreams of Mark beckoning him to.

 

As he roused from his heavy slumber, the first thing he was aware of was how parched his throat felt. He tried opening his mouth, and winced as the dry skin of his lips flaked off as he painstakingly tried to force them apart. He took in a shallow breath, and the strong, chemical smell of disinfectant invaded his nose.

 

There were some sounds, some commotion, though they sounded distant like they were coming from a faraway place. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking as he tried to focus, but even in his blurred vision he could tell it was his mother hovering over him.

 

“Jinyoung!” she exclaimed, with such abandonment it sounded as if the stress that had been built up in her had all been alleviated at once. 

 

He struggled to reply, his lungs feeling buttery and his throat dry from thirst. His mother got the sign, and fetched a cup of water for him immediately. It was only then he realised he was on drip.

 

“H-how long has it been?” he wheezed after taking a sip of water.

 

His mother said nothing at first. Instead, she pulled him up into a sitting position and gave him a yearning hug, to which he could barely respond to because he was still feeling numb all over. The last time they saw each other they were on bad terms, but presently, it seemed that there were no overnight fights in his family and no grudges borne.

 

“You’ve been sleeping for slightly more than a week,” his mother finally informed him, then rambled on like every other anxious, overbearing mother in the world. “I told you not to do this but I never thought you would actually go for the operation. I was so worried when the doctors called and then they told me you were taking longer than usual to wake up from the anaesthesia and–”

 

“Mum!” Jinyoung interrupted with all the energy he had. “How about Mark?”

 

That was his top priority of the moment. He didn’t care of the throbbing pain that was beginning to surface from his surgical wound, and his mother’s concerns were secondary. Where was the serenely beautiful and smiling man in his dreams?

He didn’t like the look on his mother’s face. Her eyes were darting nervously everywhere, her hesitance implying only bad news.

 

“Tell me, _please_ ,” he implored. His fear that he’d sweated over to overcome was creeping back into him, seeping into his bones and making him feel limp, helpless.

 

“About that, Jinyoung, I’m sorry” his mother sighed, shaking her head apologetically. “I didn’t mean to react that way when you came out to me. I was just shocked, you know? Surprised, that I didn’t see this coming. It made me feel like I didn’t know you well enough, that I failed as a mother.”

 

Jinyoung was not expecting a heartfelt confession, and amidst his worries he was grateful. Mark was right about his mother coming around, again. He was always right. So, he should be right about the operation going well, _right?_

 

“I want you to know that I understand. It will take me some time to fully accept it, but know that I understand. I’ll try my best, son. I hope you’ll forgive me if I ever say anything insensitive to you in the future.”

 

“It’s okay, mum,” Jinyoung said softly. “And _Mark?_ ”

 

Saying Mark’s name gave him the jitters. Unfortunately, not in a fluttering, first-love kind of way, but nervous and tense. His mother looked away briefly, and his heart sank.

 

“You’ll need to hear from the doctor, darling,” she said.

 

When Jaebum walked in ( _finally!)_ to check on his recovery, he longed for nothing more but to rip off the tubes attached to his veins and run around to show that he was fine. The routine check-ups were unbearably long that day, and Jaebum refused to divulge any information until Jinyoung was checked through and through.

 

Of course, there was a reason for that.

 

“The operation went well,” he began, and Jinyoung’s face lit up so brightly, the sun dulled in comparison. And then a sigh followed, and immediately, he plummeted to the dark crevices of hell. “I can’t say the same for his recovery, Jinyoung. What we worried about the most happened – GVHD – and even though it was only a week, he was suffering. It’s a special case. Usually GVHD only kicks in months after the transplant. But he suffered from a shock, and there was only one way we could lessen his pain,” Jaebum explained.

 

“And w-what is that?”

 

“A medically induced comatose. I’m sorry, Jinyoung. We would have asked you for your decision, but it was an urgent decision we had to make and you yourself were in post-operation coma. I can assure you, it is the best decision we could have made as medical professionals.”

 

Words left Jinyoung, leaving his insides cold and constricting. He felt like nothing but an empty carcass.

 

Waking up could be really harsh, especially when the dreams are better than reality.

 

* * *

  

Jinyoung was bound to his bed like a prisoner with no rights. Ironically, everyone seemed to be at his service, trying to cheer him up like helpless baby-sitters would to a cavalier, royal child.

 

 _“I’m sorry you have to go through this,”_ Youngjae had said while giving him a huge comforting hug. His usual bright demeanour was the dimmest ever, that even Jaebum was at a loss of what to do. But Jinyoung felt nothing.

 

Jackson, on the other hand, visited Jinyoung with a gargantuan box of chocolate _Home Run Balls_. _“Here,”_ he had said. _“Your favourite snack. I had to ask the supermarket staff to get me a whole new carton from the storage room, and this is at expense of a whole week of my organic green tea supply. So appreciate me, and eat them all.”_ His attempt at being nonchalant was a failure, for his eyes were literally crying buckets as he said that to Jinyoung. But Jinyoung felt nothing.

 

To say his mother was supportive was an understatement. She took care of him in every possible way, and offered to support Mark financially through his medical expenses. She constantly tried to be understanding, and was patient with Jinyoung’s emotional detachment, even taking time off work despite being a workaholic to accompany him. But Jinyoung felt nothing.

 

It was like a void. A dark void.

 

A never-ending, dark void that consumed everything, so that he was feeling nothing except… _empty._

 

He knew that only Mark could fill him up again. What he didn’t know was how it would strike him in a crushing tsunami of misery and tears when he eventually was allowed to visit him. By then, he was almost fully recovered, yet he never felt sicklier.

 

Seeing the familiar blonde hair, high nose, and pale skin filled his vacant heart again, but the dark-lidded eyes refused to open, no matter how long he stared at them. And that broke his heart.

 

“Sad” used to sound childish, like something flimsy. But Jinyoung felt that was because he had never truly experienced true sadness until now. Most of the time, his hands would hang limply over his knees as he crouched in a corner, his eyes red and puffy, and his face wet with tears.

 

And sometimes he would talk to Mark, encasing his hands with his own like the elder used to do for him. He would talk about anything, usually about their memories, as though he was encouraging him to wake up to relive them together. But even reminiscing old times did not help prevent the memories from fading. Like fruit put up in jars and forgotten about, the sweetness seemed even more distilled each time he returned to visit.

 

So, he talked about their future. He talked about the trip to Los Angeles that they had planned, the video game Mark had promised to teach him, and about the books he would read to their future children. He hoped that Mark would hear them in his sleep, and wake up feeling excited for their _happily ever after_. 

 

And then he would kiss him every time it was time to go, putting his faith in the fairy tales, hoping his sleeping beauty would wake soon.

 

_From this slumber_

_You shall wake_

_When true love's kiss_

_The spell shall break_

* * *

 

“Have I ever told you what else the dandelion meant, other than strength and resilience?” Jinyoung asked as he ran his fingers through Mark’s blonde hair. The effects of chemotherapy had not worn off despite the months that had passed, and Mark’s hair still fell off at Jinyoung’s touch, cascading down his neck like willowy gossamer.

 

“It’s a gift to a loved one,” he whispered as he continued stroking his lover’s hair dearly.

 

“Have I also told you?

 

_I love you_

 

and your _dandelion hair._ ”

 

* * *

 

When college started, Jinyoung was then beginning to understand how being an adult worked. There was always so much to do, and often they weren’t things he enjoyed. But he learnt to deal with his responsibilities, obligatory or not, and he grew up.

 

He was no longer the inexperienced, overly-impassioned teenager from a year before. He could control his emotions better, and be decisive when needed. He also learnt how to combat the foolish shenanigans of his best friends. Apparently, they had not yet graduated from the zoo and were still horsing around with their monkey business.

 

“And she didn’t even apologise when it’s obviously _her_ fault for not spotting such a _handsome_ man from afar!” Jackson ranted, flailing his arms dramatically in attempt to describe the “serious accident” he had gotten into on his way to college.

 

“You are a perfect example of why there are safety warnings on everything,” Jinyoung deadpanned, leaving Jackson’s mouth hanging, speechless.

 

Youngjae snorted contentedly. “Exactly, and what do you mean you’re handsome? _Hello?_ Have you seen my mega hot boyfriend?”

 

“Plenty of times,” said Jinyoung. “The last time I saw something like him, I flushed it.”

 

“Park Jinyoung!”

 

And because he didn’t want to get beaten to pulp, he ran away, like his life depended on it. If he were completely honest, _not really._ It was an excuse to have time alone, because it was a special day.

 

Day 365 since the day he and Mark went into the operating theatre.

 

A year; the date of promise.

 

He visited Mark yesterday, for he was afraid today would be too painful for him to bear. Jaebum had had long talks with him about what to do with Mark, and with much torment and courage, he had agreed to unplugging Mark from life support.

 

The words that Mark had said to him before kept lingering in his mind; he had always emphasised that he didn’t want Jinyoung to suffer, that he didn’t want him to hurt. And Jinyoung felt the same. As soon as Jaebum mentioned how difficult it was for Mark even when he was on life support in his coma, the decision was clear.

 

_“There are times when it takes much more strength to know when to let go and then do it.”_

 

Before he signed the papers, he had to see Mark one last time. As if heavens knew of their plight, rain fell like God's own poetry, each drop a single letter in a song – a sad song.

 

As Mark laid in his arms, time flooded through his fingers with no regard for his feelings, beginning to dissolve into itself, as shapeless as the rain. He wished he could just stop moving forward and exist in that moment together. Not thinking nor breathing. Just not apart.

 

But he had a promise to keep.

 

He leant in for a last goodbye kiss.

 

“I love you,” he had said. He could say it several more times in his life to come, but it would be the last time he was saying it in front of Mark, his love. Thereafter, he signed the papers, and he couldn’t bear to look behind him again.

 

He walked away, with lips a semblance of a smile, but his heart was aching.

 

Today he was back at the hospital, not to witness Mark leave the world (he didn’t think he could endure the pain of watching him die before his eyes) but to simply be in the same vicinity as him, so that when it was time to go, Mark wouldn’t be alone.

 

Before the tree that was in front of their ward – _their_ tree – he sat, taking in the all the beauty that was around him. It was as though nature was there to accompany him through his grieving: the soft grass cushioning him, the splendid tree shading him from the sun, and the birds keeping quiet to mourn with him.

 

He took out the letter he had received from Nayeon yesterday. _“Mark wrote this before the operation last year. He said to give it to you when it is the right time. And I think that’s now,”_ she had said.

 

 _Typical Mark_ , Jinyoung smiled to himself, _being the perfect boyfriend until the very last day._

 

And as he was opening the letter, he realised, at the corner of his eyes, a speck of yellow screaming for attention. It was a dandelion, not the white and wispy one, but a young dandelion. The gold amid the green, a little sunshine close to the earth.

 

Like an embodiment of Mark.

 

He wanted to share this moment with Mark, tell him excitedly about how he was right all along about dandelions thriving everywhere. Yet this was now only an unachievable wish. The closest thing he could do to be close to Mark now was to read the letter.

 

So he did, word by word. Letter by letter. Stroke by stroke.

 

He read it so many times, even the sun had begun to set. The fiery red orb slowly descended, splitting into golden rays at the line where heaven met earth – like a resounding, glowing collision, and Jinyoung had the letter memorised from back to front.

 

He finally looked up, smiling. And across the patch of grass basked in the magical glory of sunlight he saw a familiar smile returned at him.

 

Of a man with dandelion hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whether it was Mark miraculously standing before Jinyoung at the end is up to you to interpret. :) if you’re a romantic, it’s my gift to you: a miracle. And if you like bittersweet and realistic endings, you can think of it as Jinyoung’s own imagination. 
> 
> I love all of you for reading till the end. :') it's been a real struggle, but also great enjoyment writing this piece. I would love to hear your thoughts in the form of comments if you'd fancy entertaining me x Thank you all once again! Until next time!


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little insight to Mark’s point of view, since we’ve been looking at this story through the lens of Jinyoung’s perspective

_Dearest Jinyoung,_

 

_If you’re reading this letter, I’m afraid the ending we both wanted so badly could not happen. But I believe you’re being the strong person that I know and love so much, and that you would keep our promise._

_I will never forget the first time we met, and this isn’t me trying to make fun of you (maybe it is). Your flustered face, your stuttering… I didn’t think so back then but now that I recount these memories, I think I’d fallen for your charm already, at that moment. You were absolutely adorable, but also adamant of what you thought was right. It really showed when I finally got to know you better. It’s the same confidence and stubbornness that, though at times worried me, I love._

_But it was really when I heard you speak of literature that you enraptured me. I have never in my life felt passionate for anything (except you, of course), which is why your ardour and devotion for poetry intrigued me so much. I love watching you read your poetry, even though 99% of the time I have no idea what you were talking about. And I love how romantic you are. You always make me see the beauty in things that are unassuming, and you made me feel beautiful._

_And some time, I’ve forgotten when, I realised that I loved so many things about you. So many, that I might well be in love with you._

_I’ve done stupid things in the course of our relationship. I’d attribute this to my damned insecurities, and well, poor decision-making skills in general. I apologise for the times I’ve pushed you away, when I acted like I didn’t care about you. Believe me when I say that hurt me the most. I just didn’t want myself to become a source of misery for you, because you being happy means the most to me._

_But then I couldn’t control myself. I still think I’m selfish, even though you convince me otherwise, to have you despite my condition. You give me so much love that I often feel I don’t deserve, and I always try to return it, though until today, I’m not sure if I’ve done a good job. If I haven’t, I was planning to make it up to you through the years to come. But of course, we both know, now I’m not capable of doing that._

_Instead, I would tell you again in words. That I love you. So, so much. If I die, I will wait for you, do you understand? No matter how long. I will watch from beyond to make sure you live every year you have to its fullest, and then we’ll have so much to talk about when I see you again eventually._

_Don’t cry over me, you know I hate it (I will allow happy tears). Think of me sometimes, but not too much (I’m afraid you’d cry again). Remember: Dandelions don’t die. I’ll be everywhere, quietly protecting you. You might even see me so much you’d get sick of me!_

_Stay healthy, and stay happy._

_Again, I love you._

_I love you, Jinyoung._

_Love,_

_Mark_

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading // kudos and comments are greatly appreciated xx
> 
> hmu @_brynnzie on twitter if you'd like to!


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